


What Makes You Beautiful

by MedieavalBeabe



Series: One Direction and Thee [1]
Category: Harry Styles/Reader - Fandom, One Direction
Genre: (or not), AU, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hating One Direction, Kissing, Lovers, RPF, Reader is 20, Reader is in University, cuteness, harry is 23, may be smut, slight stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-10 11:38:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 39,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3288968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MedieavalBeabe/pseuds/MedieavalBeabe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You hate One Direction. You never listen to their music. You walk out of the room when a One Direction song comes on the radio.</p><p>Harry finds out.</p><p>And he’s not going to give up pestering you until you tell him why you hate him and his band so much.</p><p>You’re determined that you’re always going to hate him.</p><p>Right?</p><p>Right...?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "Hate Your Guts"

**Author's Note:**

> I know I said I'd never do RPF again, but this idea wouldn't leave me alone, and it's an idea I've never actually come across before, so I don't even know if it exists. Anyway, it's sort of based on my own personal feelings for One Direction; personally don't like their music much but, hey, if one of them wanted to ask me out, I'd probably say "yes." Ok, that's enough from me now, just enjoy and remember to comment if you like it.

 

 

You hate One Direction.

 

You can’t help it. You’ve never been into their music anyway. The second their first album came out your first thought was “Oh, great, another pretentious boyband who won’t give the pre-existing ones any room!” But it got worse after that, because any time you’d find yourself listening to your favourite bands on Youtube, any time you flipped open a window for McFly or Keane or Scouting for Girls or indeed any big name British band that you absolutely love, all you find are comments about how “One Direction are a much better band than this” or “the boys from 1D have way more talent” and it seems like every other comment is either mocking or dissing the bands you like and the very fact that they’re doing that in favour of One Direction drives you nuts.

 

So you hate them. You never listen to their music. You walk out of the room when a One Direction song comes on the radio – unless you happen to be on a bus, in which case you either stuff in your own headphones or block it out some other way. Alright, so the song What Makes you Beautiful has a nice message, you guess, from what you’ve heard of it, it would be nice is a bloke genuinely told a girl that the fact she doesn’t know or doesn’t care about how she looks is what makes her beautiful. Truth be told if someone you didn’t already know said that to you, you’d be very tempted to go out with them. But other than that you just can’t see the point of One Direction. Your irritation at the fans’ reactions to their music has just built up so much that you can’t help but loathe them, just like that song in Wicked “What is this Feeling” – for though you do admit it came on fast, still you do believe that it can last and you will be loathing for forever, loathing, truly, deeply, loathing them your whole life long.

 

Luckily you’re not alone, because none of your friends are really big One Direction fans either. Libby’s more into indie type music or soft rock, and agrees with you that Keane are great. Fern doesn’t really listen to music that much and her taste is pretty random but even so, One Direction is a big “No” for her. Clara’s the same, even though she quite likes pop, but she’s more Taylor Swift than 1D. As for you, you’re like Fern, your taste is all over the place, varying from classical to rock, but once again, no room for bands like One Direction. So that’s just fine really; you’re all One Direction anti-fans together.

 

That is, until you ended up meeting one of the members.

 

You didn’t even mean for it to happen, it just did. And if you’d known that it was going to happen, you would have never gone to Hereford that day at all.

 

But then you kind of had to. You and your mates are also mates with Clara’s boyfriend Sam; he’s a pretty cool guy, practically one of the gang himself, except he studies in Worcester rather than Cardiff so you don’t get to hang out with him that often. Anyway, Sam had just passed his driving test and Clara had had this idea that you all get together and celebrate over dinner. Sam brought a couple of his other mates from Uni so he didn’t feel too outnumbered by girls. So the seven of you just went out and had a meal in The Grapes, where you often go whenever you get together in Hereford, and then after a few drinks, you find you’re more than ready to go your separate ways. It’s nearly the weekend, which means that after you, Libby and Fern say goodbye to Clara and Sam, you have to get on separate trains because they’re going home for the weekend, which is alright because they don’t have to be in for Monday, but you do because you have a lecture. So you have to get back to Cardiff, and when your train is delayed by about ten minutes, all you can suddenly think about is curling up under your duvet in your slippers and favourite pajamas.

 

“Oh, well,” you mutter to yourself, “at least it’s not raining,” and you quickly nip into the cafe’ to buy a packet of Oreos. When you come out, however, someone barges right into you and you can’t help letting out an indignant yelp of “Ow!”

 

“Sorry,” comes back a voice laced with genuine apology and you’re about to say it’s all alright and that you’re making a big deal out of nothing when you look up and realise who’s just barged into you.

 

Your heart sinks.

 

Harry Styles.

 

“Are you ok?” he asked before you can even think of a response. You can’t believe this. Harry Styles, a boy you _hate,_ is actually asking you if you’re alright!

 

_Why does Romeo and Juliet suddenly come to mind?_

“Um, I’m fine,” you manage to say, stepping back so that he go into the cafe’, which is what you’re assuming he wants to do. Unfortunately, however, he doesn’t, seeming to want to make sure you’re alright.

 

“Are you sure?” he asks. “I really didn’t mean to barge into you like that; I wasn’t looking.”

 

“Really, I’m fine,” you insist with a sigh and then you quickly step around him, avoiding eye contact. You really don’t want to be impolite, but at the same time you can’t help wishing he’d just go away. How the hell are you meant to be nice to someone that you know you can’t stand, even if you’ve never met them before?

 

He whistles, however, and turns to you. “Tell me, are you from Antarctica?”

 

“What?” you reply, turning back to him in confusion.

 

“Well, someone’s cold,” Harry replies, smoothly sidling up to you. “Bad day?”

 

There is a tiny part of you that wants to slap the stupid smirk of his face, but to be perfectly honest you’ve never actually slapped someone before and you get the feeling that if you tried right now you wouldn’t do it right and it would just be embarrassing and the last thing you want is Harry Styles, whom you hate, laughing at you.

 

“My day was perfectly fine until I met you,” you reply, with venom as the announcement comes on that your train is on its way in and you need to get over to the other platform, otherwise it’ll leave without you, so you make a run for it, thinking that’s it, you met Harry Styles and you told him what you think of him, roughly, and it’s all over.

 

“Hey, wait up!” He actually runs after you and catches up to you. You quickly hurry for the train but he grabs your arm and you whip about to face him.

 

“What?” you exclaim, not wanting to make a scene, but wondering what the hell he could possibly want with you.

 

He blinks at you, and now you’re beginning to understand why girls, and boys, like him so much; he’s very good at doing a hurt puppy expression. “Look, have I done something to offend you in another life or something? Because if I have, I’m really sorry.”

 

You quickly pull your arm free. “Look, I just don’t like you, alright,” you say, quickly, certain that this is the last time you’ll ever see him so you might as well be honest, “in fact I hate you, so can you just leave it at that and let me go because I need to get on this train.”

 

“Great!” The hurt puppy expression gets replaced with a cheerful, cheeky one as he tucks both hands into his pockets. “I’ll join you.”

 

_Jeez, what does it take to get rid of this boy?_

 

“You don’t know where it’s going,” you say as the doors open.

 

He shrugs. “Wherever you’re going, that’s fine.”

 

Well, you can’t very well tell him that he can’t get on the train, only the conductor can do that, and you know there’s a slim chance that he will, so you simply jump on and hurry to find a seat. Without thinking, you find a group of two alone and sit in the window, just wanting to get back to Cardiff asap, and pull out your book. Then you feel him plop down next to you and sigh.

 

“You didn’t tell me your name, by the way,” he grins.

 

“It’s _[Y/N]_ ,” you say, automatically.

 

“ _[Y/N]?”_ he repeats, with a smile. “That’s pretty.” You force yourself not to blush. He holds out his hand. “I’m Harry, by the way.”

 

“I _know,”_ you sigh through gritted teeth.

 

“Right,” he agrees and then leans back in his seat. You wouldn’t honestly be surprised if he put his feet up on the one in front of him, and with _his_ legs he could probably do that. “So, _[Y/N],_ are you going to tell me why you “hate” me when you barely even know me?”

 

“There’s no air quotes about it,” you insist.

 

He shrugs. “Ok, so...”

 

You glance at him. “Does it matter? Do you not get hate mail in all your fan letters and stuff?”

 

“Well, yeah,” Harry agrees, tugging a dark lock of hair off his forehead, “but they usually tell me why.”

 

You’re about to reply when the conductor comes around, calling “All tickets and railcards, please!” and you quickly whip out both of yours. To your utter annoyance, Harry quickly leans over you, reads where you’re going and then orders a Return from Cardiff when it’s your turn. You sigh and slump into your seat and he turns to you with a mischievous look. “What? I’m persistent!”

 

“You are that,” you agree, drily.

 

“Oh, come on, _[Y/N].”_ You wish he’d stop using your name like you’re old friends or something. “What have I done that’s given you leave to hate me? Hm?”

 

“Exist?” you sigh and then add “And you’re not exactly helping yourself by bothering me, you know.”

 

“Well, I’m _going_ to bother you until you tell me your reason for hating me so much,” Harry comes back with.

 

“Does it matter?” you ask.

 

“It matters to me,” he insists, stubbornly.

 

“Well, good luck,” you say, going back to your book. “You’re going to be waiting forever for me to tell you.”

 

Harry simply grins. “I’m looking forward to it.”

 

_This cannot be happening! This has all got to be some bizarre dream! What; what would Harry Styles even be doing in Hereford, anyway?_

 

“What were you even doing in Hereford, anyway?” you ask before you can stop yourself, curiosity getting the better of you.

 

“Visiting a mate. You?”

 

“Same,” you mumble, hiding your face behind your book again. To your surprise, Harry gets the message and doesn’t say anything else until you come up to Cardiff. Relieved, you get to your feet and try hard not to notice him follow you off the train and onto the platform.

 

“Where are you off to now?” he asks, brightly.

 

“Home,” you say, briskly, “and if you get any ideas about following me-”

 

 _“[Y/N],_ I’m not a stalker,” he interrupts with an amused look.

 

“Really? You could have fooled me,” you mutter, glancing at the sky. It looks like it’s about to start raining. Thankfully you don’t have far to walk back to your flat. Harry, meanwhile, has turned in the direction of the train timetable, which is changing even as you watch. It now shows that the next train back to Hereford isn’t for another hour. You can’t help feeling a little smug.

 

“Have fun waiting, Styles,” you smirk, turning towards the staircase.

 

“I’ll see you again, _[Y/N],”_ he replies, as casually as if you were talking about the weather. “I’m going to find out your reason.”

 

You scoff. “Cardiff’s a pretty big city; there’s no way you’ll ever see me again.”

 

“You’d think that,” Harry returns, mysteriously, raising his eyebrows. “But I have my ways.”

 

He saunters over to the nearest bench and sits down. You decide against answering so you make your way down the stairs. Looking up, however, you see him watching you and before you avert your eyes, you see him wave, a cheeky little gesture that were he anyone else you might just return. You simply ignore him, however, and hurry home, just barely missing the rain as you stumble into the flat and as you lock the door firmly behind you, you feel like you’ve finally put enough distance between the two of you.

 

“Well,” you mutter to yourself, undressing and clambering into bed. “That was...eventful.”

 

Sleep takes a while coming, so you pop in your headphones and when you hit McBusted’s song Hate Your Guts, you can’t help laughing, thinking that this is exactly how you feel about Harry Styles and the rest of One Direction. Eventually you fall asleep and when you wake up, you’ve virtually forgotten that you even met Harry Styles the day before at all. It’s only when you click onto Facebook, after you’ve made yourself a cup of tea and are sitting in front of your laptop with that and the Oreos you forgot to eat the day before, wonder why, and you see an advert that says something like “One Direction New Album Nominated for Brit Award” that you remember.

 

“Jeez, is there no getting away from these guys?” you wonder, closing down your laptop, and cupping your hands around your tea. You remember then what Harry said, about seeing you again, and you shake your head. No way. He’s Harry fucking Styles for crying out loud; he’s probably waking up in bed with about six groupies right now as you speak. He’s got better things to do than waste his time chasing after some Welsh girl who doesn’t want to have anything to do with him in a million years.

 

Convinced, you pull yourself together and go into town, buying groceries and spending some time in your favourite second hand bookstore before heading over to your favourite little cafe’ for a much needed lunch. Sunday passes in pretty much the same way, with the added bonus of morning archery and by the time you catch the bus back to town, you are more than ready for something to eat. You can’t help giggling as you always do as you cross through town at the odd looks you get, but then, you remind yourself, a girl with an enormous rucksack full of kit and wellington boots probably isn’t the oddest thing there people of Cardiff are going to see today.

 

So by the time Monday rolls around and you’re hurrying into the cafe’ for a quick smoothie to wake you up before your lecture starts, you’ve put all thoughts of Harry Styles and One Direction out of your mind. You’ve got to be quick about buying your drink, you know, because the bus timetable is so unpredictable and you want to be at the stop as soon as possible because the bus could be late or it could be early and you have about half an hour to get into Uni, otherwise you’ll be late. As it is you’ve barely stopped for breath this morning; you showered in the space of about five seconds, chucked down two cereal bars and a glass of milk for breakfast, dressed, threw your _[y/h/l]_ hair into the best style you could get it without having to take too much time on it but with it still looking fairly neat, dressed and did your make-up in the space of a few minutes, snatched up your bag, ducked out of the door, realised you’d forgotten to pack your books and ducked back into the flat for them, and now you only had a few minutes to spare to grab a drink to wake you up properly before your bus would leave. Thankfully, the stop is right across the road from the cafe’, so you can see if it’s about to leave without you or not and it hasn’t turned up yet, so you relax.

 

For about two seconds.

 

_“[Y/N]!”_

 

You freeze and then close your eyes. _Please let me be dreaming,_ you think, before opening them and turning slowly, praying you’re still asleep, although that seems highly unlikely, given that you just showered and ate.

 

You’re met with a cute, cheeky expression and a mass of dark curls and you feel your insides squirm with dread and worry.

 

Harry fucking Styles.

 


	2. "Leaving So Soon?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You just kind of snap...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't going to be the last chapter just because it's the big reveal already; there will be more to come, I promise. 
> 
> Warning: Hurt Harry, may tug on your heartstrings a little.

For a second, you seriously consider turning and running out of the cafe’ and never going there ever again. But then your heart clenches at that thought – _no more Portuguese Tarts! I can’t live with that!_ – and then you wonder why you should leave when you’ve been coming to this same wonderful cafe’ for so many years now and he’s only just discovered it, so he should really be the one to leave. So, you stand your ground and fix him with a look you hope he will take as a “Go Away” one and leave.

 

He doesn’t.

 

“What the hell are you doing here?” you ask, trying to keep your voice level but a degree of fierceness he doesn’t seem to notice comes out anyway.

 

He just gives you an innocent smile and holds out one of the two plastic cups he’s holding. “Smoothie?”

 

You look down to see he’s bought two Detoxers, which happens to be your favourite, and for a second you wonder if it’s just a lucky guess or whether he likes all the fruits in that too. “Yeah, you _are_ that,” you agree, not taking the proffered drink. “How the hell did you know I’d be in here?”

 

“Lucky guess,” Harry shrugs. “I mean I spent the last two days wondering aimlessly around Cardiff, hoping to bump into you and this was the only place left.” Your eyes widen slightly and he chuckles. _“[Y/N],_ I promise I’m not a stalker.”

 

“That’s what a stalker would say,” you reply, warily eying the smoothies and realising that you actually really want one right now. “Harry, what do you actually want?” you sigh.

 

“I want to know why you hate me,” he persists, shoving the smoothie towards you. You have a feeling that he’ll probably dump it down your back when you’re not looking if you don’t take it and you really don’t have time for that, so you take it from him.

 

“Thanks,” you mutter, and then whip your head in the direction of the bus stop. Your heart sinks as you see your bus arriving. “Shit,” you mutter, “I’m going to be late.” Then, turning to Harry, you add “Look, I don’t have time for this. I’ve got a lecture to get to.”

 

“It’s ok, I can give you a lift,” Harry begins.

 

“No, thanks,” you say, desperately, taking a step away from him. As you do so, you accidently bump into a woman behind you, one of those huffy kinds with a shopping bag, and as you’re trying your best to apologise, you realise your bus is pulling away from the stop. With a frantic yelp, you duck out of the cafe’ with a cry of “No, wait!” but it’s too late as the bus steers straight past you without stopping. Your hand not grasping the smoothie clenches in frustration as you sigh and wonder how the hell you’re supposed to get to Uni now.

 

“I’m going to be late,” you moan.

 

“It’s ok.” Suddenly Harry’s right next to you, as bright as if nothing’s wrong at all, and you really do feel like slapping him again. “My car’s just around the corner.”

 

“You drive?” you ask, your grip on your smoothie tightening.

 

“I have a driver,” he replies. “Where do you study?”

 

You glance at him and realise that you’ve got no choice. Ordinarily you’d seriously consider skipping, but it’s a lecture on Shakespeare, your favourite subject, and you really, really don’t want to miss it, considering you’ve got an exam in it later in the year. You sigh, feeling deflated. “Cyncoed,” you sigh. “That’s up at the top of the hill.”

 

He frowns at you and then shrugs. “Thank God for sat-navs.”

 

You find yourself trailing behind him as he leads you to the car. You’re surprised to see it’s a white Jaguar with tinted windows; you were expecting something a little less...fancy. Still, as long as it can get you to Uni, that’s all you care about. The driver seems pretty friendly and when you reel off the Uni’s postcode, he taps it into the sat-nav and you’re on your way.

 

“So...” Harry says, leaning back in his seat. “If you’re not going to tell me your reason, do you want me to guess.”

 

“I want you leave me alone,” you return through gritted teeth after you’ve taken a sip of smoothie.

 

“No can do, I’m intrigued,” Harry replies, infuriatingly. _How can he be so cheerful so early in the morning?_ “I’ve never actually met someone who hated me before and wouldn’t tell me why. It’s interesting.”

 

You slump lower in your seat. “Look, thanks for the lift, I appreciate it,” you admit, “but I’d rather not tell you my reason, ok, so can you just drop it?”

 

“Why?”

 

“What?”

 

“Why won’t you tell me?” He puts his head on one side, the adorable puppy look again, big eyes and everything, reminding you of a cute little spaniel. Once again you realise how so many people are able to like him; he’s good at tugging on their heartstrings. But that’s not going to work with you, so you swivel your head away.

 

“Because I don’t want to,” you insist.

 

“Why?” he asks again.

 

“What are you now; Socrates?” you ask, incredulously.

 

“I can keep this going forever, you know,” he grins, cheekily winking at you as he sips on his smoothie. “You might as well ‘fess up.”

 

“I don’t want to tell you,” you sigh, “because then you’ll make out that I’m wrong and you’ll try to convince me to your way of thinking. And I hate it when people do that.”

 

“So, what you’re saying is that your way of thinking is the only way of thinking?” Harry challenges, raising an eyebrow.

 

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” you argue.

 

“Well, it sounds like it,” he replies.

 

You feel a twinge of relief as Uni comes into sight. “Well, you’d just tell me it’s a stupid reason and I don’t think it is,” you reply, making to get out of the car. As you open the door, however, he grabs your arm.

 

“I’m not going to give up, you know,” he grins. “I’ll get it out of you one way or another.”

 

You stare at him. “What’s it going to take for me to get rid of you?”

 

“Tell me your reason.”

 

“I have to get to class.”

 

“Fine, then I’ll see you later and you can tell me then.”

 

“Ok,” you sigh. Anything for a quiet life after all. You make a quick mental note to get the bus straight home after your lecture and avoid your favourite cafe’ from now on until he gets the message.

 

He lets you go with a satisfied smile but you don’t look back as you hurry into Uni, ignoring the stares from other people as you go.

 

“Hey, _[Y/N]!_ Wait up!”

 

You turn in a slight panic, but it’s only Ollie, one of your classmates and you smile in relief.

 

“Hey, Ollie, good weekend?” you ask. “Hungover?”

 

He laughs, sheepishly. “Hey, how come you got a lift in a Jag? Don’t you usually bus it?”

 

“I got a lift with a friend today,” you say, thinking quickly.

 

Ollie whistles, admiringly. “Must make a bomb to be able to afford one of those.”

 

“You could say that,” you agree and then you both slip into class.

 

Much as you love Shakespeare, however, you find it really hard to concentrate because you’re worrying about Harry somehow finding you after class. Of course, he’s not acting particularly stalker-ish; it’s not creepy or anything, but it is a bit annoying, and suddenly you’re starting to wish you _had_ slapped him after all. Though, you have to admit, he is kind of cute up close, but you can’t just forget the reason you hate him and his band just because he happens to be cute and cheeky and maybe a little bit funny-

 

Your attention is suddenly caught by your friend Izzy in front of you as she holds up her notebook, tapping what she’s written in it to get your attention.

 

_Hey, [Y/N], are you ok?_

 

You smile and quickly write a note back.

 

_Just a bit of a weird morning. I’ll tell you later._

If there’s one person you can probably talk to about something like this, it’s Izzy, because there’s probably nothing she’s not seen or heard before that would shock her. She’s not like an official member of your circle of friends, but you and her are mates because you share a love of chocolate, reading and Tom Hiddleston. Seriously, the reason she watched the television series Wallander with you was because you told her he was in it. (Mind you, that’s the only reason _you_ watched it too!)

 

So, after class, you go and grab a hot chocolate together in the SU Bar, and you tell her everything – although you omit the fact that it’s Harry Styles you’ve met and that he wants to find out why you hate him. Izzy’s eyes practically pop out of her head when you tell her.

 

“Jeez, _[Y/N],_ it sounds like he’s stalking you to me! He doesn’t know where you live, does he?” she asks.

 

“No, I don’t think so,” you reply, although it’s a scary thought. You resolve to take extra care when you go home tonight even so.

 

“Well, if it keeps up, you should tell the police,” Izzy replies, sipping her hot chocolate. “I mean, this is harassment.”

 

“I don’t think it is,” you begin.

 

“If someone makes you feel uncomfortable and doesn’t leave you alone, _that’s_ harassment,” Izzy insists. “Does he make you feel uncomfortable?”

 

“Yeah,” you agree, slowly, “but then...it’s almost just like he’s someone with an obsessed crush. I mean, he’s sweet about it.”

 

“Sweet?” Izzy shudders. “Sounds plain creepy to me.”

 

You finish your drinks and go to the bus stop together. Izzy lives in a different part of Cardiff to you, so she gets a different bus and soon you’re the only person waiting for one. Then-

 

_“[Y/N]!”_

You stiffen and then swivel about. You hadn’t even noticed that the Jaguar was still there and now suddenly Harry’s there too.

 

“Have you been here this whole time?” you exclaim.

 

“Yeah, I had a bit of a wander around campus,” he shrugs, striding up to you.

 

“Are you even allowed to do that?” you asked.

 

“I don’t know, but I did.” He flashes you a cheeky grin and you’re very tempted to smile but they you remember what Izzy said.

 

“I could have you done for harassing me,” you point out.

 

“Harassing? What have I done?”

 

“Well, you’re making me feel very uncomfortable following me about like a lost puppy,” you sigh.

 

He chuckles, he actually chuckles, at the comparison. “Well, you know what you have to do to make me go away, don’t you?”

 

“This is blackmail,” you say as the bus approaches the stop. “Anyway, I’ve got to go, my bus is here.”

 

“I can give you a lift home,” he replies, taking your arm.

 

“No!” Suddenly you just snap. Two days with this bloody freak has already driven you to the brink of insanity and you are this close to just screaming at him. You wrench your arm out of his grip, blinded by hatred for him. “You want to know why I hate you? Because I think you’re just a bunch of talentless no-hacks who are just stealing the scene from everyone else; that’s why!”

 

It comes out harsher than you actually meant it to, and his reaction is nothing like you’d been expecting. His face doesn’t fall as such but the light instantly dies from his eyes and is quickly replaced with a hurt look, the kind a dog gets when it can’t quite work out why it’s in trouble.

 

“See?” he says, bravely, although his voice sounds slightly shaky. “That wasn’t too hard, was it?”

 

Oh, there is no way he is going to use his puppy-eyes to make you feel bad.

 

“Just leave me alone, Harry,” you sigh, pulling your arm free and hopping on board the bus.

 

You don’t look back once.

 


	3. "Breathless"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why does he keep popping up in your life like this?

Harry fucking Styles – that’s how you’re going to think of him from now on, Harry _fucking_ Styles – may have only been in your life two days, but he’s still driving you crazy!

 

When you told him your reason, you thought that would be it, and in a way it was. It had been nearly two weeks, and you hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him. You were actually beginning to get a little paranoid that he might have killed himself, but every time you checked the Metro the words Harry Style of 1D Kills Self never popped up on the front page. So he’s stopped stalking you and that’s fine.

 

What isn’t fine is the fact that you’re starting to feel a bit bad for hating him.

 

It’s ridiculous, you tell yourself, yet every time you remember the expression on his face when you shouted at him, you feel incredibly guilty. He looked like you’d just kicked him but he was attempting to smile through the pain. Which made it worse in a way. What made it even worse was the fact that when you went to give blood two days ago, the radio station they had playing the background to make everyone feel more relaxed started playing a One Direction song – Steal My Girl – and you didn’t have headphones with you, so you had to listen to it all the way through. By now you could pick out Harry’s voice from amongst the others easily and that was a nightmare.

 

“Is there no getting away from this boy?” you muttered to yourself, causing your nurse to give you a funny look as he bandaged up your arm. Thankfully he didn’t ask questions.

 

Now, though, as you stood on the platform with Fern and Libby, waiting for your train to turn up, you do your best to push all thought of Harry Styles and his irritating cheekiness and his soft curly hair and his puppy-dog eyes and sweet smile...and everything else out of your mind.

 

 _Harry fucking Styles is **not** going to ruin my evening,_ you think as you board the train with the girls. The three of you are meeting Sam and Clara at Play, the nightclub you sometimes frequent, because after all the studying you’ve all been doing lately for a group project due Monday, which you finally got completed this morning in the SU Bar, you all feel you’ve really earned a break. So, you’re all going to Play and after that you, Fern and Libby are going to spend the night in a local hotel, the Green Dragon, before you go your separate ways in the morning. Or you might all stick together for a bit and catch a later train home, you haven’t really decided yet.

 

The first thing you do when you get to Hereford is check into the hotel and dump your bags in the room. They’ve given you a single bed next to the window and a double bed near the bathroom door, so you quickly do Rock, Paper, Scissors to find out who’ll be sharing. In the end, you end up with the single bed whilst Fern and Libby get the double; you can live with that. Then, once you’ve all freshened up a bit, you make your way over to Play, where Clara and Sam are already waiting for you.

 

“Hey, you made it!” Sam grins, passing you a drink.

 

“Yep!” you smile, clinking glasses with Clara. “It’s taken two weeks but I think we’re finally done!”

 

“Hm, I still think our argument could be stronger in places,” Fern adds, taking a sip of her drink. “But we haven’t got enough time for that.”

 

“Ah, well, here’s hoping it’s good enough to pass,” Sam smiles.

 

You laugh. You like Sam – not in _that_ way, obviously, he belongs to Clara, but you like to hope that your next boyfriend might be a bit like him. Usually the kind you end up with are lazy and unwilling to make an effort to see you; it’s always you that goes to them. All your relationships generally end with you being the dumper not the dumpee.

 

The reason you all like Play so much is that it’s a bit more relaxed than most other clubs and there’s usually some good music to listen to. By the time you’re feeling tired, however, they’ve randomly switched to One Direction and you groan inwardly.

 

“Guys, I think I’m going to go back to the hotel,” you shout over Live While We’re Young.

 

“Are you sure?” Libby asks and when you nod, she adds “Well, do you want us to come with you?”

 

You smile, knowing that if Libby goes to bed now she’ll only be awake again at three in the morning. It’s best for her sleep cycle if she goes to be at about one in the morning and it’s only just past eleven now.

 

“No, it’s alright,” you insist. “I’ve got my personal alarm and it’s only Hereford, after all. Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

 

Famous last words.

 

You stumble along the street as the night air hits you, cold and welcoming. You decided to duck down the alley past the Grapes and past the cathedral to get to your hotel, figuring that no drunks will hang around a cathedral, right?

 

Wrong.

 

“Oi, love.” Your skin begins to prickle at the sound of the alcohol-laced slur as he comes staggering towards you, nearly falling over his own feet as he brandishes whatever’s in the bottle he’s holding in one hand whilst his other hand reaches to grasp hold of you. You immediately step out of his grip and he sways indignantly on the spot. “Hey! I were just tryin’ to ask you somethin’.”

 

“Just leave me alone,” you say. You’re feeling a little giddy yourself, you shouldn’t have had that last bottle of Brothers, it was one too many.

 

“Aw, come on, darlin’, don’t be like that,” he tries to purr. “Wha’s a matter, eh? Time o’ the month? Come ‘ere.”

 

“Get away from me!” you shriek, probably louder than you meant to, but it does the trick as you back away from him. Your back hits the wall and you realise it’s a mistake two seconds later as he grasps your wrist and you wriggle but even with all that drink inside him he’s stronger than you.

 

 _Shit,_ you think, _I’m going to be molested or worse!_

You gear yourself up to scream when someone grabs the man’s shoulder and pulls him off you. He lets go of you with such a force that your head butts the wall behind you, and thought it only hurts a bit, you let out an “Ow!” even so.

 

“Wha’s your game?” the man grunts, and you heart suddenly lurches in a mixture of relief and dread as you recognise the voice that replies.

 

“I think you should leave the girl alone and go home,” Harry says, his tone calm, like a doctor or a social worker as he lets the man go. That’s probably a mistake because the man’s got an angry glint in his eyes now and you don’t like the look of the way he’s grasping that bottle, like he wants to hit someone with it.

 

“Yeah?” he growls. “Well, I don’t give a fuck what you think, mate.”

 

It all happens so fast that when you look back on it, you’re not one hundred percent certain that it happened that way at all. At any rate, the man goes for Harry, but Harry ducks under him as easily as if he’s dancing on stage, seizes the arm holding the bottle and pins it behind his back, pushing him with his front up against the wall. The man grunt as you stumble aside, not wanting him to grab you again.

 

“Right,” says Harry, who’s not even breathless as the man struggles and squirms against him and the wall, “now I want you to take your bottle and go, or you’ll be in a hell of a lot more discomfort than you are right now. Got it?” When the man doesn’t answer, Harry presses against his arm and he yelps “Fuck! Alright! Got it!”

 

Harry lets go of him and you tense, expecting the man to start hitting him, but instead he staggers away as quickly as his legs can carry him, clearly deciding that Harry isn’t a man to be messed with. You breathe out and lean over, your vision swimming somewhat.

 

 _“[Y/N]?_ Are you alright?” Harry asks, gently, hand on your shoulder.

 

You look up at him. “Which one of you wants to know?” you ask, feebly. It’s no joke, you really _are_ seeing double.

 

“Oh, jeez,” Harry sighs. “Why didn’t I take basic First Aid like Liam told me to? Here, sit down.”

 

He guides you over to a bench. You don’t argue. “I’ll be alright in a minute,” you insist, closing your eyes and breathing deeply.

 

“You don’t feel like you’re going to faint, do you?” he asks. “Because I know the procedure for that; you sit down and put your head between my legs.”

 

You start to laugh, because you can tell he’s not trying to hit on you in a sleazy way, he’s just got muddled, the innocence of his tone shows you that. “It’s between _my_ legs,” you explain, opening your eyes and seeing his look of confusion.

 

“Right.” He looks like he wants to kick himself. “That makes more sense.”

 

“I’m alright, really,” you insist, running your hands through your hair and then glancing at him. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

 

“You do know that Worcestershire is only a quick drive from here, right?” Harry replies.

 

You did know that. “So?” you shrug.

 

“So I have a flat there,” Harry replies.

 

“Oh.” That’s all you can think of to say. Oh.

 

“Yeah, it’s our month off now the tour’s finished, so we thought we’d chill separately for a bit before we need to get back together again,” Harry shrugs, slipping his hands into his pockets.

 

“Makes sense,” you agree. “You must live in each other’s pockets most of the year anyway.” Then, awkwardly, you add “Thanks for that, by the way. It was...pretty cool.”

 

Harry looks away from you. “Well, even talentless no-hacks can be knights in cotton armour once in a while.”

 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you sigh.

 

“Yes, you did,” Harry replies.

 

“No!” You run both hands through your hair, trying to express what you’re feeling. “Look...it’s not that I think you don’t have talent. You do.” Harry swivels his eyes to yours and you nod. “It’s just that...well...you’re new on the scene and suddenly everything’s about you. It’s like all my favourite bands have all been forgotten about, they’re just yesterday’s news whilst One Direction are suddenly the best thing since sliced bread. It’s like you just knocked them all out of the limelight like...like...”

 

“Celebrities?” Harry supplies.

 

You sigh again. “I’m just fed up of every time I go on Youtube listen to Keane or something, all the comments always say things like “Oh, One Direction are so much better than this!” when about six weeks ago they were saying “This is the best song ever written!” and, I don’t know, it’s just built up until I can’t take it anymore, and you’re not even the kind of music I’d enjoy listenign to anyway, but that fact that all of a sudden you lot have got all the fans and everyone else has forgotten about all the other good bands that are out there-” You cut off with another sigh and shake your head. “I’m sorry, but it’s just how I feel.”

 

Harry blinks and then thinks about it. “That’s understandable,” he says.

 

You glance at him, incredulously. “What; you’re agreeing with me? Do you just agree to everything anyone says? Can’t you ever argue like a normal person?”

 

“What; and feed you the fuel? I don’t think so?” Harry laughs.

 

You shake your head. “You’re unbelievable,” you mutter.

 

“Oh, come on, you can’t hate me for being nice,” he chuckles.

 

“I can hate you for being perfect,” you mutter.

 

Harry sobers up but his grin is still there. “So, how come you’re walking around Hereford at this time of night? I thought you lived in Cardiff?”

 

“I do,” you find yourself saying, “but me and the girls decided to have a night out at Play.”

 

“What; and they ditched you?”

 

“No, I left early because I couldn’t stand the music any longer. I was on my way to our hotel.”

 

“Which hotel?”

 

“The Green Dragon. It’s only over there.”

 

You nod in the direction and Harry gets to his feet. “Come on,” he says, holding out his hand. “I’ll walk you back.”

 

“Harry,” you begin with a groan.

 

“You don’t think I’m about to let you get jumped on from the shadows again, do you?” he asks. That cheeky look is back but there’s also a slight pleading look in his eyes that you find you can’t resist. So, you give it, take his hand and let him pull you to your feet, although you make a point of dropping your hand from his the second you’re up. Harry doesn’t take offence, however, he merely falls into step beside you and as you leave the cathedral gates, he starts humming Steal My Girl under his breath until you glance at him and he realises what he’s doing. “Sorry,” he grins, sheepishly.

 

“Do you always hum your own songs when you hum?” you ask.

 

“Not always, but that one’s catchy,” he shrugs, scratching his head.

 

“Trust me, it isn’t,” you say, without malice and he smiles at you.

 

“Think you’ll be alright now?” he asks as you reach the door of the hotel.

 

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” you say, wishing he wouldn’t keep on being so nice. You’re supposed to hate him, for crying out loud. Still, you can’t help feeling a bit bad for being so mean to him; after all, he’s been really nice to you; he gave you a lift to Uni when you needed it, he bought you a smoothie and now he’s saved you from some random drunk.

 

_Damn it, why did God create guilt?_

 

“Ok, then,” Harry replies. “Well...I guess I’ll see you around, _[Y/N].”_

 

“Harry!” you say before you can stop yourself, and when he glances at you, you deflate. “Do you fancy a drink?”

 

He saunters back to you. “I think I could manage a quick one.”

 

You try not to roll your eyes at how that sounds. “Good, because I think the bar’s still open,” you say, leading the way into the hotel.

 

It is, as it turns out, and you’re the only two people in there besides the bartender. You decided to order an Archers and lemonade, not fancying anything stronger. Harry says he’ll have the same to keep you company. You sit up on the bar stools, side by side, legs dangling and you idly wonder what the hell your friends would say if they suddenly walked in and saw you sitting with Harry from One Direction. Not that they would; it’s too early for any of them to leave the club, but you imagine they’d probably have a fit if they did. And then you’d have a hell of a lot of explaining to do.

 

“I suppose...we could try and tone it down a bit,” Harry says, suddenly, and you look at him in surprise. “I mean, with the fans and everything; remind them that there’s still some better bands than us out there.”

 

“No, you don’t have to do that,” you sigh.

 

He shrugs. “Would it make you like me any better if we did?”

 

“Harry,” you say, weakly. “What is this obsession you seem to have with making me like you?” Even as you say it, you have a feeling you know what he’s about to say before he even says it.

 

“Alright, I’ll admit it.” Harry spreads his hands in defeat. “I’ve got a bit of a crush on you.”

 

You nearly drop your glass. “Me? After the way I’ve treated you?”

 

He grins. “Well, it makes a change from girls throwing themselves at me all the time. And you’re kind of adorable when you’re fierce.”

 

You sigh, twirling your straw. “Would it completely kill you if I said I don’t want to go out with you?”

 

“Look, _[Y/N],_ you say you hate me, and the others, right?” You nod, wondering where this is going. “But there’s more to us than just the fans and the music. You could at least try and get to know me before you make your mind up.” He tilts his head, giving you the puppy look again. “How’s this? We go on _one_ date and if you still really hate me by the end of it, then I’ll leave you alone and never bother you ever again?” You raise your eyebrows and he adds “Scout’s honour,” with one hand over his heart and his other in the air.

 

You take a deep breath. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” you sigh, “but...ok.”

 

Harry’s expression lights up at once. “Ok?”

 

“Ok, we can go on _one_ date,” you confirm.

 

“Great!” Harry holds out his hand. “Pass us your phone.” You hand it over without a thought and he frowns as he unlocks it. “You haven’t got a touch screen?”

 

“I don’t get along with touch screens,” you say. It’s true; in class once your lecturer wanted you to use I-Pads to access some work and you were the only one still logging in whilst everyone else was on the Uni website already.

 

“You’re living in the Dark Ages, girl,” he smiles, shaking his head, but he puts his number in, hands your phone back to you and then whips out his own. You reel off the number for him and he hops off the bar stool. “Great. I’ll give you a call in the morning.”

 

“Not too early,” you start to warn him, but his gaze has drifted to the window.

 

“Oh, hell,” he mutters, and then before you can turn your head, he has seized hold of you and started _kissing_ you! What’s worse is that whilst your head is yelling _Push him away, already!_ your body is responding with butterflies and blushes and your lips are opening to accommodate his and your tongue is exploring his mouth as he explores your own. You’re vaguely aware that he tastes like lemonade and something minty, probably mouthwash, before he pulls away from you, looking completely apologetic.

 

“Sorry,” he says, his own face flushed as he lets go of you. “I just saw a journalist I know. If he’d seen me, it would have been all over the papers tomorrow.” So saying, he pulls up the hood of his hoodie and makes for the doorway, leaving you feeling breathless and tipsy, and not just from the alcohol.

 

“Typical man,” you murmur.

 

“I heard that,” Harry grins from the doorway. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

 

And with one final cheeky hand-wave, he’s gone.

 

“He’s keen on you, Miss,” the bartender observes as he dries the glass he’s holding.

 

You sit quietly for a minute, and then with a murmur of “Yeah,” you finish your drink, nod your thanks to him and head upstairs to your room to collapse into bed, unable to believe the turn the night has taken. How is this happening? You hate One Direction. And yet you’re about to go on a date with _Harry fucking Styles,_ even if it _is_ just to show him that you’ll never change your mind about him, it’s still a _date_ with _Harry fucking Styles,_ and he just kissed you!

 

And the annoying thing is not that you let him kiss you, but the fact that you kissed him right back!

 

“Damn you, Harry fucking Styles!” you groan.

 


	4. "Call Me, Maybe"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry wants you; do you want him?

You get woken in the early hours by a strange ringing noise. You glance around the room once, your mussed hair falling in your eyes and then realise it’s your phone. Thankfully the sound of [y/f/s] which you have set as your ringtone isn’t enough to wake Fern or Libby, who, as predicted, got it a little after one o’clock. You frown, blinking, trying to focus on the buttons, not even bothering to check the Caller ID as you finally find the Answer button.

 

“Hello?” you groan, your voice heavy with sleep.

 

 _“[Y/N]?_ It’s me.”

 

“Harry,” you exclaim as quietly as you can, glancing at the hotel clock, “it’s quarter to five in the morning.”

 

“Sorry.” You have to hand it to him, he does sound genuinely sorry. “I couldn’t sleep.”

 

“So, you thought you’d wake me up too?” you smile, sarcastically, pushing the covers off you. “Genius.”

 

“Sorry, I can go if you want-”

 

“No, no,” you interrupt. “It’s ok. You did say you’d phone in the morning after all; I just didn’t think it’d be this early in the morning.”

 

You go into the bathroom to let your friends sleep as Harry goes on “So...we never arranged our date properly.” You can hear him grinning as he says it. “When’s good for you? I mean, any time’s good for me, but I know you’ve got Uni, so...”

 

“I can do tonight,” you say, sitting on the edge of the bath. “I mean, it’s Saturday, so that way if I drink too much, I won’t have to sit through a lecture with a hangover.”

 

“Sounds good to me,” he laughs. “Where shall we go?”

 

You think for a second. “Well...I know somewhere that’s never crowded on a Saturday, and that might be best if you’re trying to avoid journalists and photographers. In fact, on Saturdays it’s virtually empty.”

 

“Great,” Harry replies. “Where is it?”

 

“Terra Nova, down in Cardiff Bay.”

 

You can practically see Harry raising his eyebrows as he replies “Well, I don’t know where abouts the Bay is in Cardiff; is it easy to get to?”

 

“Just a quick bus ride away from the city centre,” you reply, trying to sort out your hair with one hand as you glance in the mirror. “Or a ten minute walk if you’re up for that; although I think it’s meant to rain some time tonight.”

 

“Bus it is then,” he laughs. “What time?”

 

“About sevenish?” you suggest, wondering inwardly why you’re doing this again. “I could maybe meet you outside the station?”

 

“Sevenish,” he repeats. “I’ll be there.”

 

You can’t help smiling only because this is the first date you’ve had in...what? Months? Years? You’ve been too busy studying lately to even think about getting a boyfriend. _Boyfriend? Jeez, I’m not going to go that far with him! I barely know him! Anyway, I hate him, remember?_

 

_“[Y/N]?”_

 

You jump back to reality. “Sorry, I was miles away.”

 

“I said, I’m sorry about last night, by the way. You know, the kissing?”

 

“Oh, that’s ok.”

 

“It’s just if that bloke had seen me sitting at the bar with a beautiful girl, it’d stir up all sorts of rumours and be all over the tabloids by now.”

 

“Yeah, I can imagine,” you reply, and then “Wait; what? You were sitting at the bar with _me_ last night?”

 

“Yeah,” he says, in a tone that indicates you’re not quite getting it, “that’s what I just said.”

 

You inexplicably blush right down to your socks, if that’s possible. _“Harry,”_ you manage to say.

 

“What?”

 

“I’m not beautiful.”

 

He sighs. “You really need to start listening to our music more often, _[Y/N].”_

 

“Why?”

 

“Because you’re just like that girl in What Makes you Beautiful.”

 

“If you start singing right now, I’m going to thump you,” you warn but you’re trying not to laugh as you say it.

 

Harry does laugh. “Alright, I’ll let you get on.”

 

You can’t help noticing that he sounds wistful when he says it, like he still wants to keep talking to you, so you quickly say “Why don’t I call you back when I’m more awake?”

 

“Ok!” he says, perkily, and you can imagine him bouncing on his bed like an excitable puppy. _Is he even in bed? Or is sitting on the sofa? Or possibly on the floor? Oh, my God, what is he even wearing? Wait; why am I thinking about this?_

 

“Ok, I’ll talk to you then,” you say, awkwardly.

 

“Can’t wait for tonight,” Harry grins.

 

“Yeah,” you say, trying to sound like you mean it. “Should be fun.”

 

“It will be fun, _[Y/N]._ Trust me.”

 

You’re paranoid your voice will crack, as it often does when you’re fibbing, if you say anything other than “Right. See you,” and hear him say “Bye,” before you hang up. You get to your feet and glance at yourself in the mirror, thinking that either Harry was trying to flatter you in an attempt to get you to change your mind about him or else he’s blind. Your hair is all over the place, you have circles under your eyes and given the fact that you’re still not properly awake, you basically look like Death’s Daughter. Or Dracula’s. Still, you smile, shake your head and decide that since you’re up anyway, you might as well get washed and dressed, although it is peculiar to run a shower at five o’clock in the morning but after you get out, you feel more awake. You decide that the second you get back to the flat, you will nap until it’s time to get up and get ready for your date – _oh, my God, I have a date with Harry fucking Styles!_

You had to admit, it is a _bit_ exciting to be going on a date with a famous singer, even if it _is_ one you hate.

 

By the time Libby and Fern are up you’ve already showered, cleaned your teeth, dressed, done your hair and are sitting on your bed with a book. _“[Y/N],_ how do you do it?” Libby groans, wandering into the bathroom to clean her teeth. “How are you up so early?”

 

“Couldn’t sleep,” you shrug, “so I thought I might as well get up.”

 

You all decided over breakfast that none of you can really be bothered to hang around in Hereford. Fern, bless her, who was probably born with a clipboard and pen in her hands, says she still has some work to do, work that the rest of you are leaving until a bit later in the week to complete. Sometimes you think that she couldn’t function if she didn’t work. Libby says she just wants to go back to bed, but since you’ve got to check out after breakfast, sleeping in the hotel isn’t an option. You say that’s just fine with you and that you might try and catch a nap too when you get back Cardiff, so once you’re done, you check out of the hotel, send a quick text to Clara saying you’ll see her Monday and that, in your case, you’re sorry that you had to leave Play early last night, and then head for the station together. It’s only after you’ve all gone your separate ways once you reach Cardiff that you remember you were going to phone Harry back, so rather than go home you pop into your favourite cafe’, order a Detoxer and a couple of Portuguese Tarts – what? You’ve earned more than one! – and then sit in a quiet corner to call him.

 

He answers on the third ring. “Hello?”

 

“Told you I’d call back,” you say.

 

 _“[Y/N]!”_ He sounds as if he’s sprung off the bed or the couch or from wherever he’s sitting as he says it. “Hey! I thought I wouldn’t hear from you again until tonight! What are you wearing?”

 

“Right now?” you ask, glancing down at your jeans, boots, [f/c] t-shirt and comfortable old cardigan. “Um-”

 

“No, tonight,” Harry laughs.

 

“Well, I hadn’t actually decided,” you admit.

 

“Nah, me neither,” Harry replies. “I mean, I’m sure you’ll look great whatever you wear-”

 

 _“Harry,”_ you say again. You seem to be saying his name an awful lot lately. “You’re making it very hard for me to hate you, saying things like that.”

 

“That’s the idea,” Harry replies, mischievously.

 

“Where are you?” you ask, because he sounds so relaxed, like he’s lying down as he says it.

 

“What, right now?”

 

“Mm.”

 

“In my bedroom, lying on the bed.”

 

“I thought so,” you can’t help smiling.

 

“What about you?” he asks, with a grin.

 

“In the caff,” you reply, with a shrug, popping a piece of tart into your mouth.

 

“Yeah, I can see why you like that place so much. That smoothie was delicious.”

 

“Did you try the Portuguese Tarts?”

 

“No. Any good?”

 

“Only the best in the world. You have to try them.”

 

“Sounds like another date,” he teases.

 

You roll your eyes. “How about we just get through tonight first?”

 

“Right. Sorry. Getting ahead of myself,” Harry laughs. He pauses. “I like talking to you.”

 

Once again, you realise you’re blushing. Actually, you realise, for a celebrity, he is surprisingly easy to talk to. You suppose that if it wasn’t for the fact that you hate him, you’d actually consider dating him anyway.

 

_Put that thought out of mind, [Y/N]!_

 

“Yeah, well, most people seem to,” you say, airily, trying to sound cool and clipped.

 

“Aw!” Harry sighs, although you get the feeling he’s joking. “Damn! I thought I’d catch you out there!”

 

“Nice try!” you laugh.

 

You end up talking to him for nearly an hour. In the end you have to break up your conversation with the “I’m paying for this call” excuse, even though you actually have a contract rather than pay-as-you-go phone, so technically it’s your parents who pay for the calls. Even so, you remind him that he’ll be seeing you tonight anyway, to which he responds with a “Can’t wait,” before saying goodbye to you. You, on the other hand, are feeling a twinge of nerves as you go home and pick out an outfit, wondering what might look nice but not so nice that he’ll get the wrong idea and think you secretly _want_ to be dating him.

 

In the end, you opt for an old favourite; a long faded blue dress that looks a lot like a Medieval peasant tunic but which falls to your knees and has buttons down the sleeves, unflattering but still nice, over leggings and boots. You then set your clock to wake you up at six and go back to bed. You don’t expect to nap, but you do and when your alarm wakes you, you’re feeling a lot better than you did that morning. You quickly change into your outfit, do your make up – again, casually, so he doesn’t get the wrong idea, grab your bag, use the bathroom, pull on your coat and then set off towards the station. You’re there half an hour early, so you nip inside and browse in the book store for a bit. By the time you come out again, it’s raining, not heavily but raining even so and there’s a familiar looking Jaguar pulling up. You quickly throw up your hood and run to meet him.

 

“Hey,” you say, just to be friendly.

 

Harry grins as he pulls up the hood of his dark hoodie. “Good thing we’re bussing it.”

 

You can’t help but laugh in agreement as you both run for the bus stop. Thankfully the bus is there in a matter of seconds and you’re both soon sitting inside, shaking the rain off your respective outer layers.

 

“Tell me, would it be terrible if I shook myself like a dog?” Harry jokes.

 

“Yes!” you laugh. You can’t help yourself. One thing you can’t deny is that he _is_ funny.

 

As predicted, Terra Nova is practically empty, just a few locals at the bar and the bargirl, who gives you both a friendly smile and doesn’t comment on Harry’s celebrity status, just ushers the two of you into a booth where you can have some privacy if any screaming 1D fans _do_ come in. You watch Harry yank off his wet hoodie; underneath he’s wearing just a plain grey cotton T-shirt with long sleeves, along with his jeans and Vans. You quickly pull off your coat just for want of something to do and hang it on the back of your chair, only to look up and find him staring at you.

 

“What?” you ask.

 

“Mm, I was right,” Harry grins, cheekily. “You do look great.”

 

Boldly, you step forwards and pat the top of his wet curly head. “Down, boy,” you tease and he laughs. You sit down and the waitress brings you your menus. Everything looks delicious but you eventually opt for the chicken risotto, resisting the spinach and goat’s cheese lasagne on a first date out of habit, not because you’re expecting Harry to kiss you again. He orders the pan-fried Hake with salad; you suppose given that he has an image to upkeep, he has to eat fairly healthily even when his management team aren’t around. You both order a half pint of Thatchers to wash it down with and a jug of water for the table, just in case. The waitress brings it all without a fuss and simply says “Enjoy your meals” with a smile as she serves you and you’re grateful that she doesn’t draw attention to who your date for the evening actually is. You’re not really one who likes a lot of fuss anyway, and you have a sneaking suspicion the staff here know that; after all the times they’ve seen you come in here on your own, or with the girls, they seem to know you pretty well by now.

 

Surprisingly, it’s rather easy to forget that you hate Harry as you talk with him over your dinner. You converse as if you’re two ordinary people, as if he’s just someone from Uni who asked you on a date, and it’s fairly easy to talk to him. You talk about your respective hobbies – he’s very interested in you doing archery and asks all sorts of questions about that – your favourite foods, colours, books, films, songs, places to be, childhood memories; you learn about each others’ backgrounds and relationships, both current and former; he asks you about your course, listens with interest and discloses that he quite enjoys Shakespeare too - “even if the language is a bit strange, he wrote some good stories.” By the time you’ve been brought your desserts – lemon and blood orange sorbet – you’ve almost forgotten why you’ve ever said you hate this boy in the first place.

 

Almost.

 

“You know,” Harry says as he lays down his spoon. “The night is still young.” You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “What shall we do now?”

 

You think for a second. “Did you ever watch Torchwood?”

 

His face brightens at once. “Yeah. That was filmed around here, wasn’t it?”

 

“Come with me, then,” you say, getting to your feet and pulling on your coat. “There’s something you need to see.”

 

You lead him down to the docks, once you’ve split the bill for your meals, that is, and lead him to Ianto’s shrine.

 

“Whoa,” Harry murmurs, his eyes widening as he stares at the impressive displays of pictures, poems and messages all dedicated to the memory of the famous Ianto Jones.

 

“Yeah,” you agree. “He’s probably the only fictional character to have something like this.”

 

“Small wonder,” Harry laughs, bending down to read a poem at his feet. “He was the best character in it, next to Jack.”

 

You watch him for a minute, wondering if he’s always this happy every day. A new poem catches your eye and you read it, smiling to yourself at just how much this fictional character seemed to capture everyone’s hearts, yours included, and how devastated the fans all were when he died. You follow each new one you find, not realising Harry’s doing the same until you bump into each other and laugh, awkwardly.

 

“This is somewhat familiar,” Harry jokes.

 

You smile and then look away. This is getting too awkward. You are not about to let Harry fucking Styles win. You’re determined that you’re always going to hate him.

 

Right?

 

Right..?

 

“Still hate me?” Harry asks, with a sad smile.

 

You look back up at him and sigh. “I think maybe “hate’s” too strong a word.”

 

He grins and steps closer to you. “So...you like me, then?”

 

“Harry,” you sigh, stepping away from him and walking a little way along the pier. “I _can’t.”_

 

“Come on,” Harry says, grabbing your shoulder and spinning you to face him. “Admit it. You think I’m alright.”

 

“No,” you insist, grabbing him by the front of his hoodie and backing him up to the nearest pillar. “I think you’re a fool. I think you’re way too cheerful all the time. I hate the fact that you just let very single insult I throw at you brush off and don’t argue back. I hate the fact that you’re always able to get the better of me. And I still hate the fact that you kissed me last night. Alright, so I don’t hate you, but I don’t like you very much.”

 

Harry simply grins. “How come you keep blushing then?”

 

Your eyes widen and you uncurl your hands. “I don’t,” you insist, getting ready to push him away from you. Harry simply laugh and wraps both arms around your waist, holding you against him. “Get off, or you’re going in,” you threaten, although for some reason you’re trying not to laugh as you say it.

 

“I’ll pull you in with me,” he smirks, and then he kisses you. And you can’t help yourself; you cling on and kiss him back.

 

_Too late; you’ve already pulled me in!_

“I’ve been wanting to do that since I first met you,” Harry sighs, breaking the kiss so you can both breathe. “Why’d you make me wait so long?”

 

You blink up at him. “What part of “I hate you” did you not understand when we first met?”

 

Harry just laughs and kisses you again. Your mind tries to resist, but you’ve got absolutely no control over your body, and that is _not_ just the alcohol talking; a teeny, tiny part of you _wants_ this, wants _him kissing you._

 

“My friends are going to kill me when they find out,” you sigh.

 

“So, don’t tell them.”

 

“I _can’t_ not tell them; they’re my best friends!”

 

“Well, then, there’s no way around it,” Harry replies, shrugging. “Either you tell them you’re dating Harry Styles or you don’t; there’s no third option.”

 

“Annoyingly, that does sound right,” you sigh as he kisses you again, and then “Wait; what do you mean I’m _dating_ Harry Styles?”

 

He grins at you, cheekily. “Sorry, but you really should have thought about that before you agreed to meet up with me tonight.”

 

You blink at him. “I hate you,” you sigh, out of habit.

 

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” he points out.

 

“Shut up,” you say, indignantly, pushing feebly against him.

 

“It’s the truth,” Harry insists.

 

“Oh, fuck it,” you groan, giving in, and this time it’s _you_ that kisses _him._ Bugger what anyone else thinks all of a sudden; bugger what you originally thought. In spite of your mind screaming at you that you still hate this boy, you hate what his fans keep saying about your favourite music, something about him makes you want him like this.

 

“I still hate your music,” you tell him, between kisses.

 

“I can live with that,” Harry shrugs, kissing you again.

 

You can feeling a tingling of arousal pulling deep within your core, and you try to ignore it, but it’s clearly something Harry can feel too, because he suddenly pulls away from you and you feel _it_ digging into you _down there._

 

“Whoa; that is so not happening!” you exclaim, springing out of his arms.

 

Harry runs a sheepish hand through his hair. “Hm, be a bit of an odd relationship between us if it didn’t, wouldn’t it?”

 

“Shut up,” you groan, although there really is no denying that this is something you really, really want and judging from how Harry’s, ahem, standing to attention, he does too. You sigh and grab his hand. “And you wonder why I hated you,” you say, pulling him along in your wake.

 

“Where are we off?” he asks, with a laugh.

 

“My place,” you reply.

 

 _Well, even if it turns out to be a one night stand, hey, you get to shag a famous singer! Even if it_ is _Harry fucking Styles!_


	5. "The Greatest Day"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Harry spend a rainy day together...

You awake feeling a bit like you’ve got a hangover, even though you know that half a pint of cider isn’t enough to get you tipsy, and with your hair all over the place. As you groggily pull yourself back together, you try to remember what exactly happened last night. Most of it was a blur; you can remember a lot of giggling and a lot of telling him to “Shut up,” and also a hell of a lot of kissing. And...other things.

 

But did you actually do it?

 

You glance down at yourself. You’re dressed in your camisole and bra, but your lower half feels strangely free of clothing. You lift the covers and nod. Yep. You two definitely did it.

 

And now you’re alone in bed.

 

You look around the flat. It feels strangely empty. You sigh and push the covers off yourself. “Oh, well,” you mutter, pulling on your pants and trying not to feel too disappointed about all this; after all, you don’t _want_ Harry, do you? _Do you?_ After all, you said yourself that it might just end up being a one night stand, and maybe now Harry fucking Styles will be out of your life for good.

 

 

It’s odd how you’ve suddenly got used to having him around.

 

You climb back into bed and think for a second, noting that you can now smell toast coming from the kitchen, and it suddenly occurs to you that usually the only one of you and your four flatmates who would be up at this time on a Sunday morning would be you – _oh, fuck, archery!_ You think as you sit up and check the weather on your phone. You shake your head. No outdoor archery today; it’s pissing with rain.

 

So, hang on; if none of your flatmates are usually up this early, who the hell is making breakfast? You’re about to get up and find out when the door opens and Harry comes in, balancing two cups of tea in one hand and a large plate full of toast in the other.

 

“Morning,” he grins as you blink at him in surprise. He sets the plate on the duvet and hands you one of the cups. “I had the hardest time trying to find anything in that kitchen of yours,” he adds, sheepishly. “I assumed this was your plate.”

 

You nod. “There’s a system,” you try to explain, but when he frowns, you just give up and take some toast. So much for him being out of your life for good. It’s a nice gesture, though, you guess, and it proves that he wasn’t just using you for sex, so that’s good.

 

“Did I get your tea right?” he asks as you take a careful sip. “I didn’t know how you took it, so I just did it the way I take it.”

 

“No, it’s...surprisingly good,” you manage to say.

 

Harry just gives you that cheeky grin of his and gets on with devouring toast. You eat in silence, mainly because you have no idea what to say. Last night you hadn’t even expected it to go this far, you hadn’t planned any further than this, and now here you were, eating toast and drinking tea with Harry fucking Styles as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. Which, you reflect, for all the girls he’s ever been with, it is. You suddenly find yourself wondering just how many girls he’s had; you knew there was that thing with Taylor Swift a while back, so you’re definitely not the first, but just which one in the long line _are_ you?

 

_Oh, jeez, he’s probably like James Bond; girl in every port and all that! Just my luck!_

 

You snap out of it as you take the now empty plate from him and put it and your empty cups onto the table before leaning back in bed with your hands over your eyes and a groan of “What am I doing?”

 

“Right now? Having breakfast with Harry Styles,” he informs you with a grin.

 

“Exactly!” you sigh. “How does this work? I mean...last week I just hated you and now...I’m so confused!” Harry just laughs and you glance at him. “Do you enjoy this?” you ask. “Making me feel like a moron?”

 

“Maybe a little bit,” Harry confesses.

 

You whack him in the face with a pillow for that. “I don’t get it,” you sigh. “How can I suddenly like you and yet at the same time still find you really annoying?” You shake your head. “Maybe it’s just me. Am I stupid for being a hypocrite all of a sudden?”

 

“Nah,” Harry replies, fluffing his hair out with his hands. “You’re just stubborn.”

 

“No, I’m fairly certain I’m stupid,” you say.

 

“Nope,” Harry insists, irritatingly popping the “p” at the end of the word. “Stubborn.”

 

“You’re not making any friends here, I hope you realise that,” you tell him, and he laughs again. You sigh and toss the covers off both of you, attempting to crawl over him to get out of bed. “I hate that I like you,” you mutter.

 

Harry grabs you, pulling you against him and your eyes widen as you realise just how arousing this is. “You just admitted you like me,” he grins.

 

“Get off,” you sigh, half-heartedly, although against your better judgement you find yourself snuggling into him. You can’t help it; in your defence, he is very warm and cuddly.

 

“Mm, what’ll you do if I don’t?” Harry asks.

 

“Break your nose,” you suggest.

 

“Oh, please don’t. That’ll look very unattractive on the cover of a magazine,” he teases.

 

“Hm,” you agree, a silent laugh and then glance up at him. “Harry, seriously, what are we doing? I mean, what is this?”

 

Harry looks confused. “Well...I could be wrong, but I think we’re in a relationship.”

 

“I knew it,” you sigh, covering your eyes with one hand. If your friends ever find out about this, screw that, if _anyone_ ever finds out about this, you are going to have a hell of a lot of explaining to do!

 

“’Fraid you’re a bit late to start worrying,” Harry laughs.

 

“I know,” you agree, running a hand through your hair. When you look up, you realise Harry is giving you that same look he gave when you had a go at him outside Uni; hurt but trying not to show it and you instantly feel bad, realising that he’s suddenly worried in case you don’t actually want to be doing this and he really, really does. You shake your head with a sigh. “Why do you have to be so cute?” you groan, before leaning forwards to kiss him. You can feel him smiling against your lips and suddenly you decide, like you did last night, _fuck it all! Does it matter that you hate this boy? He’s a good kisser and really cute and funny and friendly and from what you can remember he’s brilliant in the sack; what the hell is wrong with you? What are you waiting for? Just date him already!_

 

_Ok, ok!_

 

“So, that’s it, then,” you say. “I guess we’re dating.”

 

His face lights up like, well, for want of a better comparison, a lighthouse and when he says “Yep!” brightly, he sounds like it’s taking him all his self control not to suddenly burst into song, like a Disney character or something. You’re suddenly reminded of Prince Edward in Enchanted and you bite back a giggle as he pulls you to your feet.

 

“Ok,” you say, “so, what do you want to do today?”

 

“Um...” Harry looks surprised that you’re leaving it up to him to pick. Still, it’s only fair, you picked the last date. “I don’t know. What’s there to do in Cardiff?”

 

“Well, most things are open on Sunday,” you say. “The arcades, the castle, the museum-”

 

“Museum?” He immediately looks like an eager puppy again.

 

“Yeah, do you fancy that?” you ask. “I mean, it’s not as big as the ones in London or anything, but it’s still pretty cool.”

 

“Ok, let’s go,” he grins, tugging on your hand.

 

“Get dressed first,” you reprimand him, noting that he’s still just in his boxers and T-shirt. “And...maybe shower.”

 

Harry’s very quick in the shower, but if gives you just enough time to do something with your hair and dig out an outfit suitable for hanging out with your boyfriend – boyfriend? You still can’t quite get over that – in the museum. You opt for skinny jeans, a red T-shirt and your black cardigan over boots in the end, casual, comfortable but still looks good, the kind of thing you usually wear for Uni before you get in the shower after Harry. You can’t help but admire him as he climbs out, wrapped in one of your towels, the way the water runs down his body, it’s very alluring.

 

“See something you like?” he teases when you find yourself staring.

 

You blush and look away. “Maybe.”

 

He lifts you chin and kisses you and you do your best not to moan, but it’s very difficult when he’s standing this close to you and you can feel heat rippling off him like mist. You decide to be firm with him, so you pull away and say in what you hope is an authoritive tone “Don’t get my sheets wet,” as you flap at him like a mother with a small child and then hurry into the shower, hearing him laugh. Why is it that every time you attempt to be strict with him he just laughs? It’s very infuriating.

 

_So why the hell are you so attracted to him?_

 

By the time you’re out of the shower, Harry’s already dressed and lounging on your bed, flicking through one of your Uni books on Shakespeare. You can’t help but smile fondly at him as you quickly get dressed and sort out your make up. When you’re done, he looks up at you and grins, not a cheeky grin this time, one that shows he’s impressed with how you look.

 

“You look amazing,” he says, and you just know that he’s not trying flattery to impress you, he really thinks that.

 

“Harry,” you say.

 

“Do you even own a mirror?” he laughs.

 

“There’s one right there,” you say, pointing to the wall and he face-plants.

 

“Right, didn’t see that, sorry,” he laughs and then gets to his feet, spinning you around to face the mirror.

 

“Harry, what-?” you begin as he wraps his arms around you from behind, but he shushes you and you feel a shiver run down your spine.

 

“Look,” he says, cupping one hand under your chin and turning your face to the mirror. “What do you see?”

 

You realise what he’s trying to do. “I see _[Y/F/N] [Y/L/N],_ an ordinary looking girl studying in Cardiff Met and being cuddled by Harry Styles,” you say.

 

Harry just hugs you tighter. “Well, that’s not what I see.” He kisses your cheek, nuzzling your ear. “You’re gorgeous.”

 

You giggle and wriggle out of his grip. “Come on,” you say, dragging him to the door. It’s surprisingly easy, you find, to let him take your hand and walk alongside you as you leave the flat and make your way through town. You thank God it’s so early in the morning and it’s raining, not many people are up yet and so you can hurry through the streets, avoiding puddles where you can, and soon you’re both laughing at your respective attempts to try and stay dry. Thankfully the museum’s not that far away and soon you’re both standing in the lobby, shaking yourselves off and laughing.

 

“Think you picked a good day for this,” Harry laughs, looking at the rain.

 

“Me?” you laugh. “You picked it; I just suggested it.”

 

You’ve always liked the museum anyway, it’s a great place to come on your own, but somehow being with Harry makes it even more fun. He’s like a little kid, grasping your hand and watching and listening to everything with awe and interest.

 

“This is so cool,” he gushes, sitting down on the slippery seats made to look like fake lava as you get ready to watch the video about volcanoes in Wales, and then instantly sliding off and onto the floor. You laugh as you pull him to his feet and find somewhere for you both to sit where you’re not going to slip off. You both enjoy the dinosaur section, and when the woolly mammoths move, Harry jumps and you can’t help laughing again. Harry simply gives you a sheepish grin that makes you want to kiss him all of a sudden, but you manage to control yourself.

 

You end up wandering around the whole museum together, hand in hand, and it’s like you’re seeing everything familiar for the first time when you’re with Harry. You watch the video about turtles and listen to the audio about whales, and both agree that it’s horrible that people don’t care more about animals or respect the environment. Inwardly you had a feeling that Harry would be into all that, after all, most celebrities usually are. You wander around the portrait and sculpture galleries and find your favourites. You love the Rodins best of all, especially The Kiss, and surprisingly Harry agrees with you that they are pretty cool. “Well, it must take ages to make something like this from a lump of marble and get it perfect,” he points out. “I mean, if you make a mistake with a painting, you can just paint over it or something, but you can’t really do that with stone.”

 

You even wind up in the Clore Gallery for a while, which is really for kids to have a bit of a touchy-feely learning experience with fossils or bones or old artefacts, but you get the feeling that Harry will enjoy it, and in the end you both have a laugh together. You can’t help marvelling again at how easy Harry is to be around; how he makes you feel at ease being with him and how easy it is to forget that you don’t like him, or didn’t used to like him at any rate.

 

“Kind of don’t want this day to end,” Harry confesses as you grab lunch in the cafe’.

 

“Me neither,” you reply, honestly, because there is a part of you that doesn’t want to go back to the flat tonight, then get up and go to Uni in the morning and fall back into that habitual routine again. “It’s been fun.”

 

He grins at you. “Am I allowed to say “I told you so?”

 

“No,” you say, firmly, although you’re smiling as you say it.

 

He gives you the puppy eyes and a small, singsong “Please?” as he takes your hand.

 

You sigh, dramatically. “Alright, just this once.”

 

“I told you so,” Harry grins, kissing the back of your hand.

 

You shake your head, feeling that Harry fucking Styles is going to be the death of you.

 

Oddly enough, though, you’re ok with that.

 


	6. "Sparks Fly"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You begin to wonder if Harry really likes you...

The weekend passes all too quickly for your liking, much as you hate to admit it to yourself. Time seems to fly when Harry’s beside you, being all excitable about everything. You’re seriously considering “puppy” as a nickname for him; it suits him, being all energetic and full of mischief.

 

You’re also amazed at how much you’re beginning to like being with him.

 

After your museum trip, you have to have another race home in the rain and you both wind up showering when you get in and hanging your stuff up to dry on the radiator. Sadly, you haven’t got anything really boyish you can lend Harry, but he settles for an old pair of pyjama bottoms which don’t look too girlish and an overly-baggy T-shirt you got from seeing the musical version of Beauty and the Beast at the New Theatre a couple of years ago. He has to put up with pink socks, though, but he seems pretty at ease with that. After you’re both dressed in something decent, you cook and he sits on the counter to watch you, passing stuff when you need it, which makes the whole process a whole lot easier. You make fajitas, which is a good idea anyway because you always make far too much for just one person and now you’ve someone else to share it all with. Though they are very messy to eat, but you both end up laughing when the bottom of your wrap soaks through, dumping chicken, peppers, onions, guacamole, sour cream and grated cheese onto your plate in a soggy mass, and when Harry ends up with sauce on his chin. (That’s easily dealt with, though.)

 

“That’s actually the most fun I’ve ever had eating those,” he grins as you lie side by side in your bed. You’re not entirely sure whether letting your boyfriend – how does that term feel so natural in such a small space of time? – stay for more than one night running is against the rules of your tenancy or not, but to be perfectly honest you’re past caring right now.

 

“You know something?” you murmur as your eyes drift shut. “Me too.”

 

You swear you hear him whisper “Goodnight, _[Y/N],”_ and kiss your cheek before you fall asleep.

 

Morning finds you both grabbing Detoxers and Portuguese Tarts in the cafe’ before Harry once again insists on driving you to Uni, or rather letting his driver drive you both to Uni.

 

“Please no hanging around for me afterwards, though,” you say, feeling there’s got to be a limit to how much time two people spend together.

 

Harry laughs. “Please! I’ve been wearing the same clothes for two days running; even _I_ have rules about that!” He catches your hand, however, as you go to exit the car and pulls you back against him, kissing you deeply. “I’ll call you,” he murmurs.

 

You realise you’re blushing. “Ok,” you say. “I’ll be free later.”

 

“I look forward to it,” he smiles, finally releasing you.

 

You giggle and give him a small push. “Go on, go have fun with your bandmates or something, and try not to miss me too much.”

 

“Not going to be easy,” Harry insists as you finally climb out of the car and look around. Thankfully no one’s in sight, so you can avoid any awkward questions your classmates might come up with. He catches your hand again and presses a kiss to the back of it, and you can’t help wondering how he goes from being like a cute puppy one minute to being a perfect gentleman the next. You turn and meet his look of lingering happiness. “Bye,” he says, softly, squeezing your fingers.

 

“Bye, Harry,” you say, your own voice equally as soft, and then you pull your hand from his and close the car door. The driver gives you a respectful nod through the windscreen and then turns the car around. You watch it leave and then you turn and make your way into Uni. As you turn down the corridor towards your classroom, you hear someone call your name and turn. It’s Megan, one of your classmates.

 

“Hey,” you say. “Have a good weekend?”

 

“Yeah, not much happened though,” Megan replies, hitching her bag onto her shoulder properly. “Spent most of it studying and listening to One Direction.”

 

“Oh, yeah,” you grin, knowingly. “I forgot you were a fan of theirs.”

 

Megan laughs because everyone in class knows that you hate One Direction. “Oh, come on, like if one of them asked you out, you’d say no?”

 

You bite back a laugh at the irony of her saying that. “Which one do you like?” you ask. “Just out of interest.”

 

“Oh, I love Louis,” Megan replies. “I would so go out with him if he asked me.”

 

“Who are we talking about?” Izzy has just come up.

 

“One Direction,” Megan supplies. “I mean, I know you’re not much of a fan, but wouldn’t you go out with one of them if they asked you?”

 

“Hell, yeah,” Izzy laughs. “They make a fortune! Imagine going on a date with one of them!”

 

 _I don’t need to imagine,_ you think, smiling to yourself. _I’ve lived it. Twice._

“Who would you go for, then?” Megan asks. “Hands off Louis, though, he’s mine.”

 

Izzy scoffs. “You can keep him! Zayn’s fittest in my opinion!”

 

You drift into the lecture room to wait for everyone else. “Come on, _[Y/N],_ ” Megan insists as you all sit down. “You must think at least one of them is cute enough to say “Yes” to.”

 

“Well, I suppose Harry’s kind of cute,” you say, although you genuinely mean it.

 

“Oh, yeah, but most of the girl-fans love him,” Izzy says.

 

“Most of the boy-fans love him,” Megan points out and you all giggle.

 

“Hello, my lovers,” Ollie jokes as he comes into the room.

 

“Hey, Ol,” you say.

 

“You’re just in time; we’re having a discussion about One Direction,” Izzy tells him. “Feel free to jump in at any time.”

 

“Oh, well, Niall’s bum, don’t get me started,” Ollie says, and then to you, “Hold on, _[Y/N],_ I thought you hated One Direction?”

 

“I do,” you insist, “although if Harry Styles wanted to buy me a drink, I wouldn’t say no.”

 

“Aw,” Ollie smiles, ever the romantic. “Pity we’d never have a chance with any of them; boys like that usually have a different girlfriend per city they visit.”

 

“True,” Megan sighs, wistfully.

 

You stiffen a little at that, although you’re able to make out to the others that it’s just because you can’t find your pen. But all through the lecture you can’t help wondering if they’re right. What if you really are just one in a long line of girls “dating” Harry Styles? You’re not quite sure how to feel about that. It would be just your luck, you decide; after all he’s a successful pop star and you’re a nobody.

 

 _“[Y/N]?”_ Ollie waves his hand in front of you. “You awake?”

 

You jump back to reality at once, realising the lecture’s over. “Sorry, I was miles away,” you smile, gathering up your stuff and following your classmates to the bus stop. You get off closer to town than to home because following last night, you need food for the week. No sooner have you left the bus stop than your phone starts ringing. You have a feeling you know who it is before you even check the Caller ID.

 

“Harry,” you smile.

 

“How’d you guess?” he jokes.

 

“Because it would be just like _you_ to call the second I get off the bus,” you laugh.

 

Harry laughs. “What are you up to?”

 

“Well, since I now have a boyfriend who could probably eat me out of flat and fajitas, I’m off to buy food,” you tease, “otherwise I won’t eat tonight.”

 

“What are you planning on having?”

 

“Dunno yet. Probably pasta. I’ve got enough of it knocking about the cupboard. What about you?”

 

“No idea. I’ll probably just do the usual.”

 

“Which is?”

 

“Crack open a Pot Noodle.”

 

“Very glamorous,” you smile.

 

“Henry IV Part 2, by the way,” he adds, abruptly.

 

You stop. “What?”

 

“That quote; you were playing on the saying “eaten me out of house and home,” right? It’s from Henry IV Part 2. Mistress Quickly says it about Falstaff,” Harry replies, casually.

 

You feel your jaw drop. “How the hell do you know that?”

 

“I watched the Hollow Crown.”

 

“Oh.”

 

You’re still amazed, though; not many people you’ve ever met could tell you where that quote comes from, much less which character says it. Harry seems to pick up on your surprise because he laughs again. “Trust me when I say you’re not the only one who’s seen that show, _[Y/N].”_

 

You smile and keep walking. “I think most girls just watched it for Tom Hiddleston and Ben Whishaw, though.”

 

“To be honest, the only reason I wanted to watch it was because Michelle Dockery was in it,” Harry admits. “But I kind of got sucked in.”

 

You laugh. “I know my friend Izzy only watched it for Hiddleston; she’s addicted to his films.”

 

“Well, he does play the best villain of all time,” Harry grins. “Loki. You don’t get badder than that.”

 

You laugh. “Yeah, carrying on the tradition of British actors being the bad guys.”

 

“Well, we do do it very well,” he points out.

 

You nod and then, remembering he can’t see you, agree with a soft “Yeah.”

 

 _“[Y/N]?_ You ok?”

 

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

 

“You sure? You sound a bit distracted.”

 

You hesitate. You could just use an excuse, tell him you’re looking for tomatoes or whatever, but on the other hand you know that you really need to find out once and for all whether or not you’re just one of many to him. After all, how can you relax if you’re worrying so much about such things?

 

“Harry,” you say, trying not to sound too down as you ask this question. You quickly sink onto a nearby public bench, feeling like you can concentrate better on what he says if you’re sitting down for it. “Is this..?” Suddenly you’ve no idea how to phrase the question without it sounding like the start of a break-up line.

 

“What?” he prompts, sounding worried now. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Well, nothing,” you admit. “Only...I was chatting to some of my friends today...”

 

“Did you tell them about us?”

 

“No, but we were...kind of talking about you guys anyway, and, well, they were...saying...”

 

“What?”

 

“Am I just one in a long line of girls?” you blurt, feeling that this needs to be like ripping off a plaster, quick and hopefully painless.

 

“What? No! How can you think that?” Harry exclaims.

 

You face-plant. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s just...I just don’t get what you see in me...when you can have any girl you like.”

 

“Yeah, but I like _you.”_ There’s a smile in his voice as he says it, although when he speaks next, his tone is serious. “Look, _[Y/N],_ please don’t go getting insecure or start thinking you’re not good enough or anything. Please.”

 

“But-” you protest, feebly.

 

“But nothing. I like you, and you’re starting to like me, so there’s really nothing stopping us from dating. _[Y/N],_ I’d never date a whole load of girls at once and I certainly wouldn’t lead you on. Promise.”

 

“Ok,” you whisper, not quite sure why the thought of him cheating or not really wanting to date you had suddenly terrified you so much.

 

“Ok?” His tone is gentle but concerned.

 

“Yeah,” you say, your voice a bit stronger now. “I guess I’m just getting paranoid. I’m not really used to dating celebrities.”

 

“I’d be pretty worried if you were,” Harry jokes and you laugh. “Aw, hang on,” he sighs and then shouts a little away from the phone “It’s open!” before coming back to you “Sorry, the guys are here. I’ve got to go, otherwise my living room won’t be as tidy as it’s supposed to be anymore.”

 

You smile. “Go on, go. You can chat to me later.”

 

“Great, looking forward to it.”

 

“Oh, and Harry?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

You shake your head. “I’m going to kick myself for saying this, but I like you too.”

 

“Glad to hear it,” he jokes. “See you.”

 

“Bye.” You hang up and then practically skip home.

 

It’s only when you get there you realise you forgot to buy food.

 


	7. "Too Lost In You"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Harry have dinner. That's it. Almost...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am supposed to be writing other stuff, but this chapter wouldn’t leave me alone until I got it out! Plus One Direction kept coming on the music channel while I was writing it, not by choice, which didn’t help! Anyway...

 

 _Right,_ your brain tells you, _so if we’re looking at the theme of death, we could use the quote where Mercutio’s taken off after he gets stabbed by Tybalt and he curses the houses, because he says something like “They’ve made worms’ meat of me,” so you could connect that to the fact that Romeo and Juliet’s relationship is doomed right from the start, the whole star-cross’d lovers bit, and – I wonder what Harry’s up to today? It’s been, what about six hours since we had that text conversation this morning – no! Focus, [Y/N]! You have an essay due about this next Tuesday! Ok, so, anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah, and then you could also connect the violence theme to Romeo’s rage when he decides to kill Tybalt – what’s the quote for that again? “Either thou or I, or both, must go with him,” that’s it. Act 3, Scene 1, and then connect the theme of blood with things like blood-ties and family relationships to the Prince’s quote about letting Romeo off for killing his cousin’s murderer and perhaps you could bring in that bit where Lady Capulet gets really angry about Tybalt’s death and family honour, things like that, “Romeo must not live!” – so we’re eating at Harry’s on Friday, I wonder what kind of place he’s got._

“Ah!” you almost yell, throwing up your hands into your hair and shaking your head as if trying to shake Harry out of it. It’s no good, though, it seems like every single part of any thought leads you right back to him, like in that song from the Woman in White – I Believe My Heart. You were meant to be working on your Shakespearean tragedy essay, but every topic you came up with led you drifting off to thoughts about your superstar boyfriend again – Blood made you think about that time you fell over and hit your head when you were six and that then had you remembering how he saved you from that drunk, Death made you think about the song Live While We’re Young when you remembered how many of Shakespeare’s best characters died in their prime, Violence made you remember how gentle he always is with you, nothing like those men you read about in magazines who seem nice on the surface but come across as being complete nutcases in the end – you have to admit that even when he was “stalking” you he wasn’t creepy about it – and as for Romance, well, that made you think of him for obvious reasons!

 

“Damn you, Harry,” you groan although you’re shaking with laughter as you say it. How the hell have you managed to get sucked in so deep by him? It’s the puppy eyes, you tell yourself, it’s got to be. His name will definitely be “Puppy” if you ever get to that stage of giving one another pet names. Idly, you wonder what yours would be. Probably “Tiger,” given how temperamental you can sometimes be around him.

 

As if on cue, your phone rings and you shake your head with a smile as you see who it is.

 

“Harry,” you begin as you answer,” you absolute...oh, I can’t even find the word.”

 

“Why, what have I done?” There’s a frown in his voice as he asks it. It’s sort of cute, you have to admit, that he’s worried about upsetting you.

 

“You’re in my head,” you explain, quickly saving what you’ve written on your essay so far. “And I’m trying to work, but all I can think about is you, and don’t you dare start laughing or saying “I told you so,” you add, quickly, feeling that he’s probably about to.

 

“Blimey,” Harry grins, and you’re sure he’s holding back a laugh. “How did you go from hating me to finding me mildly irritating to suddenly liking me so much that you can’t stop thinking about me?”

 

“I don’t know,” you groan. “Much as I hate to admit it, you’re surprisingly easy to like.” He laughs and you sigh. “Get out of my head,” you urge.

 

“Not going to happen,” Harry laughs.

 

“Oh, come on,” you insist, although you’re grinning yourself and you know that it’s not really his fault that you can’t stop thinking about him, well, it kind of is, but he hasn’t done it on purpose, well, he kind of has, but it’s not really his fault that your mind works that way now, well, it kind of is, but it’s your fault too.

 

“Nope,” Harry replies, popping the word as he says it, the way he always does when he sounds smug. “It’s too late.”

 

 _“Har-ry!”_ you laugh, stretching out his name just to tease him.

 

“You should have thought about that before you agreed to go out with me,” he laughs.

 

“Like I had a choice,” you say, without thinking and then face-plant. “No! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to come out how it sounded!”

 

“You do that a lot, you know,” Harry says, seriously, although he doesn’t sound hurt like he did when you snapped at him that first time.

 

“Yeah, I know,” you sigh. “I’m sorry. It sounded better in my head.”

 

To your relief, he laughs. “It’s ok, _[Y/N],_ I’m sort of learning to expect it with you.”

 

“Meaning I’m probably the grumpiest girlfriend you’ve ever had?” you joke, feebly.

 

“Nah, I’ve had worse,” Harry insists, with a smile.

 

“Oh, please, you’ve been out with _Taylor Swift,”_ you laugh. “That couldn’t have been all bad!”

 

“I’m not the kind to date and tell,” Harry teases right back.

 

You smile. “Maybe I’m having withdrawal symptoms. Maybe I’ll be alright after Friday.”

 

“Yeah, speaking of which, I just wanted to check; you’re not allergic to anything, are you?” Harry asks, his tone serious now. “Only I don’t want to end up accidently killing you.”

 

“Wouldn’t that be good for your image?” you laugh. “No, I’m not allergic to anything.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Well, no, that’s not strictly true. I’m allergic to Veet cream, but since I don’t eat that, I doubt you’ll poison me with it.”

 

“To what?”

 

“Veet cream. It’s stuff my mum uses on her legs instead of shaving.”

 

“Oh, the stuff that makes your hair fall out?”

 

“Yes,” you say, getting to your feet, “although you being a man, you’ve probably never used it yourself.”

 

Harry chuckles. “No, but I _have_ seen the Inbetweeners.”

 

“Right!” you laugh, sitting on the bed. “I’d forgotten they use it on Will in that!”

 

You both laugh and then Harry asks “What are you wearing?”

 

“On Friday?” you ask. “Um...”

 

“No, I mean right now,” Harry interrupts.

 

“Oh.” You glance down at yourself. “Black leggings and one of my favourite summer dresses, navy blue with like a sailor-style bow at the front, and I had a cardi and boots on earlier when I was in Uni, but I’m back at the flat now, so...”

 

“Bet you look gorgeous,” Harry smiles.

 

You blush, lying back on your bed. “Thank you.” You’d given up insisting to him that you weren’t gorgeous each time he said it, partly because you had a feeling you’d lose the argument whatever you said and partly because you did _not_ want him to start singing to you. Although you couldn’t deny his voice was very sensual. You hadn’t slept together on Sunday night, just fallen asleep together, but there was a large part of you that really wanted him inside you like that again, even though bits of that night were a blur. You wanted to be able to remember it this time. Before you can stop yourself, you take a deep breath and say “Harry...” then your voice drifts because once again you’re not quite sure how to phrase the question.

 

“Yeah?” Harry prompts.

 

“Um, should I pack a bag? For yours, I mean? Um, am I going to be staying the night or..?”

 

“Oh. Um...” Harry sounds embarrassed and you can imagine him running a hand through his unruly curls as he says it. “I hadn’t actually thought. I mean, you can do, if you want to. I’ll have to tidy up a bit in the bedroom, but...”

 

“You can’t be as messy as me,” you say, to save him from further awkwardness.

 

“Ok, so how many boys’ bedrooms have you actually been in?” he laughs.

 

“Do you want it in writing?” you tease, and you both laugh again.

 

“So...do you want to?” Harry asks, tentatively.

 

You smile. “I’d love to.”

 

“Yes!” He sounds like he’s just sprung off the bed again. You can imagine him punching the air and then face-planting himself. “Shit! You just heard that! Sorry!”

 

“It’s alright, you’re a boy,” you remind him. “Of course you’re going to be excited.”

 

Harry chuckles. “Right, well, guess I’ve got some hoovering to do. Talk to you later?”

 

“Looking forward to it,” you smile.

 

“Bye, _[Y/N].”_

 

“Bye, Harry,” you say and then you just lie back on your bed, thinking about him, those cute puppy eyes, those unbelievably soft mussed curls, that cheeky smile, the way those drops of water were rolling off his body that time when he showered here, down every contour, every line, like watching raindrops on a statue-

 

With a jolt you realise you’re masturbating. You quickly pull yourself together and shoot sharply off the bed and onto your chair. “No,” you say to yourself. “You have work to do. Focus.”

 

Surprisingly, the conversation with him was enough to sate your desire – great, you have a desire now – for him and you’re able to write up most of your essay and eat before he phones you again and sets you giggling with a story that Zayn sent him about two cats trying to catch goldfish in their neighbour’s pond.

 

Before you know it, it’s Friday. You still haven’t told your friends about the fact you’ve got a boyfriend now, let alone that it’s Harry fucking Styles, so when they ask you if you’re up to anything at the weekend, you quickly lie and say you’re going back home to see your parents. They lap it up and say they’re all going to be studying anyway, so you’re able to get off at your stop without feeling too guilty. The second you’re back in the flat, you dump all your Uni stuff and shove everything important into your handbag before grabbing your overnight back, checking you’ve got everything, panicking you can’t find your phone charger before remembering that you put that in your handbag already, grab your flat keys, shut your curtains and then hurry to the station. Your train’s just getting in as you hurry up the steps to the platform and you’re able to snag two seats to yourself for once, which is nice. It’s two hours to Worcester from Cardiff, thereabouts, and you spend most of it reading and snacking on Oreos until you hear “The next station is...” and realise it’s yours.

 

The white Jag is at the station, and you’re expecting Harry to wait inside it while you pile in. To your surprise, however, he gets out and gives you one of those hugs that involves sweeping you off your feet and spinning you about once before setting you down again.

 

“I’ve missed you,” he says, before kissing you.

 

“Harry,” you warn him, gently, glancing around you. “There are people.”

 

Harry looks over the top of your head and shrugs. “People who wouldn’t know One Direction if we bit them,” he insists, but he lets go of you anyway and takes your bag from you, loading it into the car himself. You catch his hand as he does so and tell him in all honesty “I missed you too, by the way,” and when he grins, add “And don’t you dare go using that against me,” causing him to laugh.

 

You’re actually surprised by Harry’s place, because it looks so...ordinary. Mind you, he’s like that, you reflect, so really you shouldn’t be surprised. He takes your bag to his room for you and lets you know where everything is before heading into the kitchen. You bite back a small gasp at how he’s set up the dining room table; flowers in a vase and his I-pod providing a variety of music (none of his own, you note, with a smile) – he really has made an effort. Suddenly you feel incredibly bad for ever not liking him.

 

He makes Fettuccine Alfredo and you sit on the kitchen counter to watch him cook it. You just talk and laugh together, enjoying the music and the general atmosphere, and once again you can’t get over just how natural this feels, being with Harry like this. Somehow you could easily see yourselves doing this in ten years time.

 

_Ten years? Jeez; we’re thinking that far ahead already!_

 

“How do you feel about cheesecake?” Harry asks when you’re done with the pasta, which was absolutely delicious.

 

“Love it,” you say.

 

“Then you’re going to love dessert,” he grins, jumping to his feet and pulling the box out of the fridge to show you.

 

“Millionaire’s Shortbread Cheesecake?” you read.

 

“It is officially _the_ most amazing thing you will ever try,” Harry insists.

 

“More amazing than Portuguese Tarts?” you ask, raising your eyebrows.

 

“Yup!”

 

“Well, I’ll believe that when I try it.”

 

Your laughter’s interrupted by Harry’s phone beeping. He glances at it, sighs and sends a quick text back. “Niall,” he says by way of explanation to you. “Sorry, he gets panicky if I don’t answer back within the first five minutes of sending.”

 

You smile. “That’s ok.”

 

He places a generous slice of cheesecake in front of you and you are amazed at how wonderful it is. You find yourself closing your eyes as you savor your mouthful.

 

“Good, right?” Harry grins and you open your eyes to find him leaning over you.

 

You smile and duck your gaze. “I hate it when you’re right.”

 

He laughs and sits down with his own slice. You’re both eating in silence for a while when the I-pod switches from Coldplay’s Fix You to Idina Menzel’s Let It Go and Harry actually drops his fork.

 

“Shit,” he mutters, his cheeks flushing. “I forgot Louis talked me into downloading that one!”

 

You laugh. “It’s alright, I listen to Disney songs all the time.” You hesitate, trying to get a piece of cheesecake onto your fork. “Are you guys close?”

 

“Yeah, to say that we only met through X-Factor, they’re more like my brothers than my mates,” Harry replies. You exchange a smile with him. “But I guess it’s like that for all bands.”

 

“Not all of them,” you say, pausing to drink before going on. “Ever hear about Oasis? The Gallagher brothers hate one another. They actually started fighting on stage once.”

 

Harry grins. “Alright, most bands, then.”

 

“What are they like?” you ask.

 

“What; the guys?” Harry asks, and you nod. “They’re a bit like me; energetic, fun...and they’re all dying to meet you.”

 

You drop a piece of cheesecake off your fork in surprise. “You told them about me?”

 

“Well, I’ve got no reason not to,” Harry points out.

 

You blush, feeling bad for not having told your friends about him yet, although you’re sure that he didn’t intend to make you feel guilty. “What did you tell them?” you ask, ducking your head to hide your blushes.

 

“I told them I’d met an amazing girl, who’s not actually a screaming fan, so it’s quite refreshing to be with her,” Harry says, getting to his feet and going over to you. You giggle, uncertainly when he says that. He places his fingers under your chin and raises your face so that you’re looking him in the eyes. There’s no trace of teasing or deceit, you realise, he genuinely means it. You find your heart’s beginning to race faster, like it’s about to burst. “And that I really, really like her and that I’ll do whatever it takes to win her over, because she’s funny and fiery and quite easily the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met in my entire life,” he murmurs, his voice, and touch, like velvet all of a sudden.

 

As he leans down to kiss you, you fling your arms about his neck and pull him against you, worried that if you resist even for a second your heart will stop altogether. He cradles your jaw, gently, before tangling his hands in your hair and pulling you to your feet. For a second, your mouths are locked together, your tongues dancing together, and all you can hear is Idina singing her heart out, unaware that her audience has stopped listening. Then, Harry moves his head and begins trailing kisses down your neck and your eyes flutter shut as you press yourself up on your tiptoes, wanting more than just the feel of his lips against your skin, wanting him, the whole of him.

 

“Harry...” you beg, gasping at his touch.

 

“I know,” he whispers back, his tone urgent, and then as he pulls away from you, he grabs your hand and leans over you to flip the I-pod off. “Come on.”

 

You hurry with him to the bedroom, already aware that it’s far too late for you to not want to be with him, you’re lost in him, he’s pulling you in too deep, and what’s scarily comforting is that you want him to, that you’re happily letting him, because despite everything you’ve ever told yourself, Harry is everything you want especially right now.


	8. "Firework"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Harry...you know...

You kick your shoes off the second you’re in his room. Your kisses have suddenly become a lot more frantic, a lot more desperate, because suddenly you just want each other so badly, so much. You both sit on the bed. _Wow, that’s a soft mattress,_ you think, and then all your thoughts just turn to mush as your hands roam all over each others’ bodies and Harry starts tugging at your cardigan, pulling it down your arms. You toss it to one side, neither knowing nor caring where it lands, and help him get rid of his shirt. Once again you’re met with the sight of his toned, slightly tanned and absolutely _gorgeous_ body. Funny, you never found tattoos particularly appealing before, but somehow they look really sexy on him.

 

Harry kisses you deeply and you’re suddenly very aware that you’re wearing far too many clothes for your liking right now. As he pulls you down on top of him, you straddle him and tug at your dress. He very kindly helps you and you giggle as his fingers skim past your ribs, tickling you slightly. You pull it over your head and toss it somewhere behind you. Your leggings come off a bit less elegantly and you suddenly curse the person who invented them in your head. You wind up rolling of him completely to tug them off, along with your socks, but Harry’s quick to pull you back against him. His hands explore the contours of your back, causing you to moan and thrust yourself against him. You can feel his hardness against your wetness already and suddenly you’re both reaching down to free him from the confines of his trousers. The second he’s naked beneath you, he flips you over and presses against you, his mouth on yours and now you’re moaning with just how much you want him.

 

“Harry, please...” you whisper, hating yourself for begging, but you need this, you want this, you need to feel him buried deep inside you again.

 

His only response is to leave your mouth and press kisses to every single part of your body that’s exposed. His touch sends tingles of excitement through you like waves of lightning. His lips are so soft against you and his fringe brushes your sternum as he peppers your stomach with soft, butterfly kisses. He glances up at you for permission, his hands cradling your lower back, and you manage a nod, already left breathless by his kisses.

 

With a smile, Harry slowly slides his hands down, dipping his fingers between the flimsy material of your pants and your skin, tantalizingly taking his time in removing them, which is driving you crazy, but eventually you feel him peeling them off you. You half-sit up, fiddling with the clasp on your bra, but somehow it’s stuck. You frown and Harry glances at you. Catching his worry, you shake your head.

 

“Hold on, I _can_ do this,” you insist, sitting up a little straighter. Your hook seems to be caught on a loose thread or something and you give a little sigh of frustration.

 

“Here, let me,” Harry says and he removes your hands from your back, examining the problem. “Yeah, I can see how it’s caught, hold on,” he adds, and suddenly you feel it loosen beneath his hands.

 

Blushing, you turn and flash him a grateful smile through your embarrassment. “That doesn’t usually happen,” you confess, prompting him to chuckle. You’re about to pull it off when he stops your hands.

 

“Let me,” he whispers, pulling you back onto the bed.

 

Wordlessly, you lift your arms and allow him to slide the restricting garment off you. Almost immediately, however, a wave of self-consciousness hits you and you cover yourself automatically. Harry looks at you and then leans forward, placing a chaste kiss on your lips.

 

 _“[Y/N],_ please,” he breathes against your mouth, his breath warm and hungry for you, “let me see you. All of you.”

 

Slowly, you lower your arms and allow him to drink you in with his eyes. “You’re beautiful, _[Y/N],”_ Harry whispers, kissing and nuzzling your breasts. You thrust your hips upwards at his touch, startled by how aroused you are by what he’s doing. Your back arches as he makes his way down your torso again and then you feel your legs part of their own accord.

 

Harry presses soft kisses to the insides of your thighs and you gasp, realizing just how dripping wet you are for him, how ready you are for him to just take you. In fact you almost shoot right off the bed when he kisses your labia and his fingers work their way inside you.

 

“God, Harry,” you moan, and then “Please, just-!”

 

He abruptly stops what he’s doing and you let out a tiny growl of frustration because you’re certain he’s doing it on purpose. “You’re sure this is what you want, _[Y/N]?”_ he asks, his voice husky and it sends a shiver of arousal through you.

 

“Oh, for crying out loud, Harry, we’ve already done it once,” you sigh, trying to ignore the throbbing in your core, although it’s becoming more painful than pleasurable now that he’s not touching you.

 

“Yeah, I know, but that was all a blur,” he chuckles.

 

You quickly hook your quivering legs behind his hips and pull him right against you. “Harry, I want you,” you insist, “and don’t you _dare_ make me say it again.”

 

“So forceful,” he teases, dipping his head to kiss your neck. “I love it.”

 

“Always knew you were a fucking masochist,” you mutter.

 

“I prefer the term “Sub,” Harry replies, meeting your look with a wicked glint in his eyes and then you gasp as he slides into you, so deep and it feels so wonderful. You fling your arms about his neck and he pulls you against him, beginning to thrust inside you. You close your eyes, enjoying the feeling of him hitting your G-spot and the warmth of being wrapped against him. Usually the men you end up going out with would rather just a quick one with limited contact, but not Harry, he actually _wants_ to touch you, wants to make _you_ feel good. You can’t quite get over that, especially given how sharp you’ve always been with him. Idly you suddenly wonder if he actually _is_ a masochist or whether he was just teasing you about that.

 

Your thoughts are cut short, however, as you feel the heat inside you building, feeling like Vesuvius about to burst open and erupt, and then suddenly like a firework, you feel yourself come undone with a moan that could quite possibly be his name, explode around his cock, and it’s quite possibly the most amazing, the most wonderful orgasm you’ve ever had in your life.

 

And Harry Styles gave it to you.

 

“Oh, God, _[Y/N]!”_ he gasps and you feel him spill it all inside you a second later. Your limbs feel weak and as you drop your arms from around him, suddenly the world becomes white and it’s like...like...you can’t describe it, it’s like you’ve just died and you’re in the go-between in the middle of heaven and earth, floating between the two, in limbo. It’s like all of time has stopped and you’re disconnected from everything, momentarily, and then you hear Harry’s voice.

 

 _“[Y/N]? [Y/N]!”_ He sounds worried. You open your eyes and see him looking down at you, slightly panicked.

 

A smile creeps over your face. “That was just...” You don’t know how to describe it, but you do know that that moment of feeling like you’re floating has never happened to you during sex with anyone else before.

 

Harry breathes out and leans his forehead against yours. _“[Y/N],_ don’t do that to me,” he scolds, gently, although he laughs, shakily, a second later. “I thought you might have fainted or something.”

 

“I’m not really the type,” you say, your eyes drifting shut at his touch again. Your legs feel tired, like they do when you’ve been sitting on one of them at your laptop or something, and your arms feel like they do right after giving blood, sort of heavy, like it’s an effort to lift them.

 

 _No wonder people usually fall asleep after sex when it’s_ this _good!_

 

Harry presses a kiss to your forehead. “You ok?” he asks, his tone still concerned.

 

You open your eyes and look straight into his cute, puppy ones. “Yeah, Pup,” you say, automatically, without thinking. “I’m fine.”

 

He raises his eyebrows. “Pup?”

 

_Oh, well, it’s too late to backtrack now._

 

“You remind me of a puppy,” you shrug. “A bundle of energetic mischief.” Then, reaching up with one hand, you ruffle his curls and add “With very soft fur.”

 

Harry laughs. “So, you’re just going to call me that now, are you? Puppy?”

 

“I might do,” you smile.

 

He withdraws from you, only to lie down next to you and pull you into his arms. You snuggle against his very warm chest, feeling his heart racing still. How the hell he manages on stage when he has to sing and dance for about two hours, you may never know.

 

_Probably how he keeps so fit._

_Shut up, you!_

 

“You’re nice and warm,” you mumble into his skin.

 

Harry chuckles and you feel it rumble in his chest. It’s a surprisingly comforting feeling. “You know, when we first met, I never took you for a cuddler.”

 

You giggle. “More like a prickly hedgehog, right?”

 

“Right,” Harry agrees, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Cute to look at but watch out for the sharp points.”

 

“Sorry,” you say. “I was a bit annoyed that day anyway because my train was late.”

 

“Yeah, I imagine bumping into a celebrity you hated didn’t really help,” he teases.

 

You don’t laugh however. Instead, you bury your face in his chest, wondering why the hell he puts up with you knowing that you’ve always been so sharp with him, you’ve always treated him like he’s an idiot and hell, you even considered slapping him once. You felt so good a moment ago but now all you can feel is bad, bad for being so mean to him.

 

“Harry, I really _am_ sorry,” you say. It comes out thick and muffled against his chest. “I’m sorry I’ve always been such a bitch to you and I’m sorry that you had to come rushing to my rescue that day in Hereford even after what I said to you, and I honestly didn’t mean for it to come out like it did and I hate myself for it now because all you’ve ever been is nice, even when you were stalking me, you were very cute about it...” Your voice drifts and you realise you’re very close to crying. “I’m sorry,” you gasp, trying to hold back the tears.

 

 _“[Y/N],_ it’s ok,” Harry whispers, stroking your hair.

 

“Harry-” you begin.

 

“No, really, it’s ok,” he insists. “You know, I wasn’t joking when I told the others I was glad you weren’t just another typical screaming fan girl.”

 

You do cry then. You can’t help it. How can you when he’s being so nice about everything after the way you’ve treated him? “Damn it, Harry,” you choke out.

 

“Hey,” Harry murmurs, soothingly, rolling you both onto your sides and brushing your hair back so that he can see your eyes. _“[Y/N],_ it’s ok. It’s ok.”

 

You cover your eyes with your hands. “Why do you have to be so nice?” you ask.

 

“Ok, would it help if I told you that I hate you back?” You blink at him through your tears as he goes on. “That I’ve hated you since that day you told me your reasons for disliking me and it was only a cruel twist of fate that brought us together that evening when I rescued you from that drunk and that I was secretly planning to lace your Archers and lemonade with cyanide but I never got ‘round to it?” You begin to laugh as he grins at you. “Would that help?”

 

“Maybe a little,” you smile, though your tears are still falling. It’s always hard to stop crying once you’ve started. Harry brushed your tears away, however, and then tilts your face upwards to kiss you. The rich, chocolaty taste of him is intermixed with the salt of your own tears but you don’t care, because it’s so gentle and passionate and you want it so, so badly. He kisses you several times before pulling away from you and nuzzling your nose with his, prompting a smile from you.

 

“You ok now?” he asks, seriously.

 

You nod. “Why do you put up with me?” you ask.

 

He shrugs. “Because I like you and I think you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met and I want to be with you.”

 

“Flatterer,” you smile. “You’re pretty amazing yourself.”

 

“Can I get that in writing?” he teases, raising his eyebrows.

 

You laugh. “Maybe when I’ve got my breath back.” So saying, you let go of him and roll over onto your other side, curling up in a ball with your back pressing into his stomach. “Thanks, though, Harry. Thanks for putting up with me.”

 

“Well I enjoy being with you,” Harry replies, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he slides his arms around you from behind.

 

“Hm,” you smile as you make yourself comfortable in his arms. “Well, don’t go spreading it around, but I quite enjoy being with you too.” Harry hugs you closer and you can’t help adding “Puppy.”

 

Harry laughs and kisses your cheek. _“[Y/N] [Y/L/N],_ you’re going to be the death of me.”

 

You wake the next morning still wrapped in his embrace, which would be quite romantic, you suppose, except for the fact that what’s woken you is a loud knocking at the door. Beside you, Harry stirs with a groan. “The bastards,” he sighs, sitting up slightly without letting go of you.

 

“What?” you stammer, glancing at the clock on the wall. It’s just gone nine. Briefly, you’re reminded of that line in Romeo and Juliet; “But new struck nine.” Time always seems to fly whenever you’re with Harry.

 

“The others,” he sighs, running one hand through his hair. “Sorry. I’m going to have to let them in before they wake up all the neighbours.”

 

“Wha-hang on,” you say grabbing his arm as he makes to get up. “The others? As in the rest of One Direction?”

 

He smiles, sheepishly, at you. “Sorry.”

 

“Oh, fu-uck...” you murmur.

 

Harry laughs. “It’s alright, _[Y/N],_ they won’t _eat_ you.”

 

“No, I know, but they’ll know I spent the night, oh God,” you say, wriggling out of bed and reaching for your bag.

 

Harry smiles as he pulls on his clothes. “It’ll be fine. I told Niall last night I was with you; which is probably why they’re all calling now. To get the dirty details.” You shoot him a look and he throws up his hands. “Which I’m not going to divulge.”

 

“You’d better not,” you say, and then with a sigh, you throw your hands up to your eyes. “Oh, there I go again. I’m sorry. Out of all the girls in the whole of the UK, you ended up picking the one with Jekyll and Hyde Syndrome!”

 

“Hey, what a coincidence, I love that book!” Harry laughs, grabbing your hands and pulling you to him. “Look, it’ll be fine, alright. They’ll love you.”

 

“Even though I hate your music?” you sigh.

 

He smiles, reassuringly and cradles your jaw. You look up into his soft eyes and find yourself smiling back. “Trust me,” he whispers, and then kisses you. You close your eyes and return it, although you both break apart when the hammering on the door gets more insistent.

 

“Ah, c’mon Harry, one of us really, really needs to go!” comes a guttural Irish accent.

 

Harry rolls his eyes. “Coming!” he calls back and brushes your lips with one last kiss before exiting the bedroom, pulling shut the door to give you privacy and going to answer the door. You listen, hearing the others pile in with various greetings and then one of them, probably Niall, you’re guessing, running to use the bathroom. You quickly pull on your clean outfit for the day, smooth out and brush your hair and apply your make up using the small mirror on the desk. One last slick of lipgloss and you think you’re ready to go.

 

“Ok,” you say to yourself, listening to the friendly banter and laughter coming from the living room. Bracing yourself you reach for the door handle. “Time to meet One Direction.”

 


	9. "Spell"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You chill for a bit with One Direction...

As you reach the doorway to the living room, the door’s slightly ajar, you hesitate. You can hear voices inside and suddenly nerves hit your stomach. _Get it together, [Y/N],_ you think, _you’re usually braver than_ this. _Ok, so you never thought you’d ever meet One Direction in your life, but after all, they’re_ people, _not an alien race that have come to feed off your blood or something. Wouldn’t_ that _be unpleasant?_ You shudder.

 

“You buggers,” Harry’s saying. “I told Niall last night that I was with a girl and next thing I know you lot pop up out of the blue.”

 

“Aw, come on,” says one the others – you don’t quite know which even with their individual accents, since you can never remember who’s from where, apart from the fact Niall’s from Ireland – “what’s wrong with your mates wanting to know what your new girlfriend looks like.”

 

“And Niall needed a pee anyway,” says another. “You saved his bladder by letting him in.”

 

You hear Harry sigh and you imagine he’s rolling his eyes, like he’s wondering what the hell he’s going to do with this lot. You smile but before you can push the door open, having finally worked up the courage to do so, a voice behind you says “Hi,” and you let out a yelp of “Whoa!” and stumbled against the door frame, whipping about to meet Niall’s startled expression.

 

“Sorry,” he says. “Didn’t mean to make you jump.”

 

Before you can reply, you hear Harry say _“[Y/N]?”_ and as he pulls open the door, you look up at him and let out a shaky laugh. “I’m fine,” you say, to both of them.

 

“Made her jump,” Niall admits, and then when Harry clouts him playfully, he protests “It was an accident!”

 

You giggle as Harry does roll his eyes then. “Well done, Niall, just when I think I’ve got her convinced I’m normal.”

 

 _“You? Normal?”_ you can’t help teasing. “You’re the boy who dropped me off at Uni in a white Jag.”

 

“Ooh, didn’t realise it was that serious,” quips Zayn from the couch.

 

Harry grins, takes your hands and pulls you into the room. “Guys, meet _[Y/N].”_

“Hi,” smiles Liam.

 

“So, you’re the girl who hates us?” Louis queries.

 

You blush. “Sorry.”

 

“That’s ok,” he grins, good-naturedly. “Our music’s not for everyone.”

 

“It’s not just the music,” you try to explain as you manoeuvre your way to the couch and seat yourself beside Zayn. Harry doesn’t let go of your hand the entire time, moving with you and settling beside you. “It’s the fans too.”

 

“Most of our fans keep dissing bands _[Y/N]_ likes,” Harry explains, interlocking his fingers with yours. “In comparison to us.”

 

Zayn whistles. “That’s harsh.”

 

“Well, to them you’re the best thing since sliced bread,” you point out.

 

“Still...”

 

You offer an apologetic smile, watching Niall sit down on the arm of Liam’s seat. Louis is seated on the edge of the coffee table, looking like he owns it. You imagine Harry’s probably long since given up telling him that it’s for eating off, not sitting on. “So,” he says, crossing one leg over the other, giving Harry a slightly knowing look. “Any chance of a cuppa?”

 

“Like I’m going to leave you lot alone with my girlfriend,” Harry responds, getting to his feet and pulling you up with him.

 

“Harry!” Liam mocks, one hand over his heart. “You still don’t trust us? I’m hurt!”

 

Harry laughs. “Not going to let her get corrupted by you lot.”

 

“When do we ever do that?” Louis protests as Harry pulls you into the kitchen.

 

“L.A!” Harry shoots back over his shoulder.

 

“Oh, come on, that was one time!”

 

“Rome!” Harry goes on, filling the kettle.

 

“Ok, two times!”

 

“And that time in Cannes!”

 

“That was a one-off!” Niall insists.

 

Harry turns to you, picks you up and sits you on the counter. “Sorry,” he grins, sheepishly, placing his hands either side of your hips.

 

“It’s ok,” you smile. “They seem nice.” Then, when he gives you a raised eyebrow look, you pretend to backtrack and look away, mumbling a stiff “I mean...maybe they’re not as pretentious and air-headed as I originally thought.”

 

Harry takes your jaw, turning your head so that you’re looking at him. “Don’t scare me like that,” he teases before closing the space between your lips. You smile, not quite giving in to him when he starts begging wordlessly for access to your mouth. You wait until he makes a small noise of frustration and then you willingly part your lips for him. “Cheeky,” he admonishes, suckling on your lower lip, but you can hear the smile in his voice.

 

“Are you two screwing in there?” calls a voice from the living room, causing you to part.

 

 **“Niall!”** the others exclaim and there’s a sound like a cushion being thrown at someone. You start to laugh, you can’t help it, it’s just all too surreal, and Harry shakes his head. “I’m going to murder him,” he mutters. “Or I could just humiliate him on stage.”

 

“That’ll work,” you joke as he begins pressing kisses to your neck. You both sigh, however, when the kettle finally boils and Harry pulls away from you with obvious reluctance to make tea. He hands you a cup too and you take a grateful sip. It’s very fortifying this time in the morning. You hop down from the counter and follow him into the living room as he takes tea to the others. Niall is holding onto the cushion that one of the others – you’re guessing Zayn – just threw at him and his hair looks ruffled, probably where it hit him.

 

“So, _[Y/N],_ where’re you from anyway?” Liam asks. “I’m having trouble placing your accent.”

 

“Cardiff,” you reply. “But my Mum’s got family in Manchester, so I guess I’ve got a bit of her accent in with Dad’s.”

 

“Damn it!” Louis teases. “Zayn and I are supposed to hate you, then.”

 

“Oh, yes, you’re from Yorkshire, aren’t you?” you giggle, remembering something you read on Wikipedia.

 

“Thought the War of the Roses went out in fourteen hundred and something,” Niall grins, and everyone laughs. You can’t help joining in. To say you’re not a fan of theirs, it’s actually quite a nice atmosphere being with One Direction. There’s something warm and friendly about them all, which surprises you; you assumed that it was just all about the music with them and that they didn’t have much personality beyond that. Mind you, you reflect, it’s like that with Harry, really. He catches your eye as he hands Zayn a mug and you exchange a smile with him.

 

The boys stay for a little while longer, regaling you with stories about their tours and from their own necks-of-the-woods that keep you all giggling together, and asking you things about Cardiff since they only ever see it for a moment when they’re playing at CIA. You end up giving them a virtual tour of the whole city, with Harry popping in a few mentions of the museum and the Bay, and they all listen with rapt attention, like you’re describing a quest for the Holy Grail or something. They really do listen, though, don’t just nod and say “Mm” like people do when they’re bored and don’t want you to know they stopped listening ten minutes ago. It’s pretty cool seeing Harry with them, watching him in what you can only describe as his natural environment, teasing and laughing with his bandmates. They really do act like one big family together. It’s just...nice, really, that’s the only way you can describe it.

 

Eventually, however, they do leave, stating that they all have to get back to their respective places, Louis teasing that they’ll “leave you two to get on with _stuff,”_ and receives a clout from Harry for it. He doesn’t mind, though, just laughs. You’re surprised when they all give you a hug on the way out. Niall seems especially clingy, like a koala bear, but you put that down to him just being a hugger. When Louis hugs you, you can’t help thinking _Megan would be so jealous if she could see this,_ and the same for Izzy when Zayn hugs you. Harry waves them all off with a promise to text them later, although when Niall jokes about “dirty details” he gives him a dead arm. You laugh as he finally shuts the door and grins at you. “Not how I expected us to spend the morning after the night before,” he says, by way of apology.

 

“What were you expecting?” you ask.

 

Harry walks over to you and takes both your hands, pulling you up from the couch. “I suppose I was expecting that we’d wake up pretty late, I’d cook you breakfast and then maybe we’d have a Round Two before we finally got up, maybe shared a shower, got dressed and went somewhere exciting for lunch, not that there’s many places like that down here.”

 

You giggle. “Up until you said _that,_ that was sounding pretty romantic.”

 

“Well, we can still do lunch,” he suggests, brushing your hair out of your eyes.

 

You nod. “Yeah, I’d like that.” Then, after a brief exhale, you add, slightly regretfully “I suppose after that, I should be getting back.”

 

Harry looks sad as he pulls you into a tight, warm hug. “I wish you didn’t have to,” he says into your hair. “I wish you could just stay here with me forever.”

 

You smile. It’s touching to be wanted. “I have Uni on Monday,” you remind him, although you return his hug. “And archery tomorrow, first thing. I just skipped it last week because it was raining. It’s meant to be a nice day tomorrow.”

 

“Fair enough,” Harry agrees, giving you a little squeeze before releasing you. “Can’t have you getting archer’s elbow.”

 

You laugh. “I’d get that from overuse of a bow, not lack of it.”

 

“Oh.” Harry’s expression fades and he looks like a lost puppy all over again. “Well, I couldn’t think of another expression.”

 

You give him a fond look. “You know, you’re very adorable when you look lost,” you tell him which brightens him up at once. “Puppy,” you add, ruffling his curls.

 

Harry laughs and kisses you. “Come on, then, grab your stuff and let’s go.”

 

You eat in a place called Cafe’ Aroma, which is filled with very friendly staff and a few elderly customers who’ve probably never heard of One Direction, so it seems safe enough to eat there with Harry. Afterwards, he drives you back to the station; you insist on it since you got a return ticket the day before, you might as well use it. He doesn’t just drop you off, instead insisting on being a gentleman and waiting with you on the platform to make sure you get on alright.

 

“I’m not having you get hit on by a sleazy drunk when I’m not there to protect you,” he insists when you attempt to half-heartedly protest.

 

“At this time of day?” you laugh.

 

“You never know,” he replies, mischievously.

 

In a way, though, you find it very cute that he wants to spend all his time with you. You simply shake your head and get out of the car. He pulls your bag out of the boot and takes your hand. You intertwine your fingers with his, noting that he beams when you do that, and that gives you a warm feeling inside. Though you’ve no idea why.

 

“I have to go,” you laugh as he kisses you whilst the train pulls up.

 

“I know, I know,” he sighs, kissing your neck. “I’m going to miss you.”

 

You giggle. “Tell me, are you like this with all your girlfriends, or just me?”

 

“Just you,” he insists.

 

You smile and then reach up to kiss him, purely because you want to, all of a sudden. How can you help yourself when he’s being very sweet and utterly adorable? It’s completely unavoidable.

 

“I’ll call you,” you say, finally extracting yourself from his embrace as the guard gets ready to wave his paddle and the doors are about to shut.

 

“Alright, I’ll let you go,” Harry insists and then just as you’re turning to make for the doors, he leans in and sneakily kisses you again. “Oops,” he grins, cheekily.

 

“Harry!” you exclaim, leaping onto the train.

 

“Couldn’t resist, sorry!” Harry laughs as the doors close behind you. You wave at him and then hurry to find a seat, a thought hitting you suddenly. Truth be told you do really, really want to see him again, so you scrabble for your phone and quickly dial his number.

 

“That was quick,” he answers, jokingly.

 

“I’ve had a thought,” you say, leaning down in your seat to rest your feet on the one in front of you.

 

“Go on,” Harry prompts. You can almost see him pricking up his ears in anticipation and you stifle a giggle.

 

“I’ve actually got Thursday off,” you say. “I mean, usually, we have a seminar, but Jenna – that’s our Children’s Fiction lecturer – says she won’t be able to make it this week, so we’ve been given the day off. So...if you’re not doing anything...”

 

You say it in what you hope is a seductive tone, like Jessica Rabbit or something. “I’m fairly certain I’m not,” Harry replies, almost instantly. You wonder if he’s just punched the air again in triumph.

 

“Then maybe you can meet me in the caff and we can...hang out?” you suggest, feeling all tingly inside as you suggest it.

 

“I’ll see you there,” Harry promises.

 

Suddenly you find yourself wondering why you ever used to dread meeting up with Harry Styles. And what this mysterious spell you suddenly seem to have cast over one another is.

 

 _And when the_ hell _did you drop the “fucking” from his name?_

 


	10. "Breathe Slow"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexting, smuttiness and Portuguese tarts, and that's all I'm going to say!

Thursday couldn’t come around fast enough for you. By Wednesday you could barely keep still in Urban and Contemporary Writing, even though it’s one of your favourite classes, and when you practically spring out of your seat by the time Ruth, your lecturer, says “That’s it for the day, I’ll see you all next week, when you’ll have all hopefully read Mrs Dalloway,” your friends all glance at you like you’ve gone nuts.

 

“Someone’s eager to get the bus,” Ollie jokes in an undertone as he pulls on his coat.

 

You blush. “Leg cramp,” you mutter, hoping he’ll buy it. “All the sitting.”

 

“Right,” he agrees, but then knowingly flashes you a wink. Thankfully the others don’t pick up on it, but you wonder if it’s obvious that you’ve got a boyfriend now. You still haven’t broken the news to your friends yet, you haven’t even told them that you had a date last week. And you always tell them when you’ve had a date; if it was a good one, you tell them in excitement, whereas if it’s a bad one, you tell them so that they can whip out the ice cream and the tissues. The thing is, well, you’re waiting for the time to break the news to them. You’ve no idea what the hell they’re going to make of you suddenly dating a famous singer you once claimed you hated - you just pray that whenever you do tell them that they don’t hate _you_ for it.

 

At any rate, you push that thought to the back of your mind as you hop on the bus. Clara grabs the seat next to you and Libby and Fern jump into the ones opposite. “Yes!” Libby exclaims, punching the air. “Got a seat!”

 

You laugh because the amount of times you guys have had to stand on this bus before because it gets so crowded is actually quite scary. Your phone suddenly beeps to your surprise and you check it. It’s Harry, no surprise.

 

_Missing you. Are you free to talk?_

You can’t help smiling.

 

 _Not yet,_ you text back. _I’m on the bus and I hate talking on my phone on buses because it’s like you never get any peace._

 

_Oh, I know, right? :)_

_I’ll be home in about ten minutes. Think you can wait that long?_

_Mm, I don’t know._

_Harry! ;)_

The bus pulls away from the curb and you’re rounding the corner when he texts back.

 

_I keep thinking about you._

Your eyes widen slightly at that.

 

_Please don’t start sexting me! My mates are here!_

_Was I that obvious? XD_

You’re not sure what to respond with for a minute or two.

 

 _“[Y/N],_ are you ok?” Fern asks. “Your face has gone really red.”

 

“Has it?” you ask, feeling the heat of your cheeks with the back of your hand. “Mm, I think I’m getting a bit warm in here.”

 

“It said on the news it’s meant to be at least thirty degrees today, and getting hotter,” Clara ventures, and you smile, gratefully, to her as you tap out a reply to Harry.

 

_You’re making me blush._

_Am I?_

_Yes, and they’ve noticed. I’ve had to pass it off as being hot._

_You are hot._

Beep.

 

_Really wish you’d believe me when I say that. :(_

_Aw! Is my little Puppy feeling low?_

_Lol! Not now! You always make me smile. XD_

You’ve got a Cheshire Cat grin plastered to your own face, you realise, as you text back.

 

_You’re making me smile right now. :D See?_

“Right, see you guys later,” Libby says, as the bus reaches her stop. You quickly wipe the smile off your face and bid her goodbye with Clara and Fern. When you next check your phone, Harry’s already texted you back.

 

_I love it when you smile._

Before you can even touch the keys, your phone beeps again.

 

_Can’t wait to see you again._

You have to bite your lip to keep a coo of “Aw!” escaping. How does he manage to be so utterly adorable all the time? You text it to him instead.

 

_Aw!_

Then, as an afterthought, you send another text.

 

_Can’t wait for tomorrow either._

_XD_

You wave off Fern and Clara as they get off and then slide a little further down on your seat to reply to him.

 

_Mates have gone now, so..._

 

After you’ve sent it, you wonder if you’ve been too forward. Hell, the last thing you want now is to screw this relationship up. It’s strange to think that several weeks ago, you didn’t want to have anything to do with him and now you’re suddenly so eager to see him again that you’re leaping up from your chair before class has ended properly.

 

_I keep thinking about your [y/h/l] [y/h/c] hair and how soft it is._

Beep.

 

_I keep thinking about your bright [y/e/c] eyes and the way you blush._

_I keep thinking about that night in bed with you, at mine._

You blush deeply as your phone beeps again.

 

_Do you think about me in that way?_

You consider before answering.

 

_Yes. I keep thinking about that day you used my shower and came out with nothing but a towel on. V. Sexy._

 

_I keep thinking about those gorgeous breasts._

_Thank you. Your body is very gorgeous too, I might add._

You’re so caught up in texting him that you nearly miss your stop. Thankfully, though, you notice just as the bus is about to pull away again, spring to your feet and hurry off with an embarrassed laugh of “Sorry,” to the driver, who shakes his head in irritation as he drives off. You check your phone. Another message from Harry.

 

_I keep thinking about how delicious you tasted. ;)_

_Harry, I nearly missed my stop just now because of you. :)_

Beep _._

_Sorry. X)_

_It’s ok. I’m kind of yearning for the feel of you inside me again._

It’s a few minutes before he answers, by which time you’re almost back at the flat.

 

_You know what I think about most?_

_What?_

You unlock the door and step into the flat.

 

_Kissing you._

 

Before you can respond, another text comes through.

 

_You’re an amazing kisser._

You gape at the message for a few minutes before quickly typing a response.

 

_You’re pretty amazing at it too._

The next thing you know you’re in your room, jeans, pants and shoes on the floor, two hands working yourself with an image of everything you and he have just been texting about in your mind. You can’t help yourself. He’s somehow managed to turn you on with just a few simple sex-themed text messages. After you’ve come, you realise there’s another message, thankfully not a sex-themed one this time.

 

_Are you home yet?_

Embarrassed, you quickly run to the bathroom and straighten yourself out before pulling your clothes back on and calling him, praying you don’t sound like you’ve just run a marathon.

 

“I am now,” you say as he picks up.

 

 _“[Y/N],_ why do you sound like you’ve just run a marathon?”

 

_Damn it!_

 

“I ran up the stairs,” you say, quickly. “I wanted to phone you the second class was over, but my bus would have gone without me if I had.”

 

Harry laughs. “Fair enough. Just to warn you, I’ll probably go running up to you like a scene from some old romcom when I see you tomorrow.”

 

You giggle. “Or like Chariots of Fire?”

 

“Mm, hopefully a bit faster than that,” he teases and you both laugh. You spend a good two hours just talking before you remind him that you _do_ actually have to eat, otherwise he won’t have a girlfriend _to_ see tomorrow. Harry laughs and says “Alright, I’ll let you get on,” and then pauses like he wants to say something else. When he doesn’t, you prompt “Harry?”

 

“I really like being with you, _[Y/N].”_

 

Your heart skips a beat and for a second you can’t speak. Usually when people say that, it sounds so awful and needy, or like they’re using it as a substitute for “I love you” or something. But the way Harry says it, so sincerely, you know that he really means it and it doesn’t sound needy, just kind and almost passionate in its sincerity.

 

“I really like being with you too,” you stammer, and then add quickly, “And you’d better not use that against me?”

 

He laughs and then asks with mock innocence “Would I?”

 

“You know you would,” you laugh, fondly. “Now I really have to go.”

 

“Just one more night until I get to kiss you again,” Harry replies.

 

“Yep,” you agree. “Bye.”

 

“Bye, _[Y/N].”_

 

After you hang up, you practically skip to the kitchen to whip up a quick stir-fry and spend the rest of the night watching Henry V and counting down the hours until you fall asleep and when you wake up, it’s with Harry-like energy that you spring out of bed at the sound of your alarm.

 

 _He’s rapidly becoming a bad influence on me,_ you decide, fondly.

 

You decide on one of your favourite red summer dresses over leggings and you favourite black shoes, with a cardigan and casual make up. After all, it’s a day-time date, although you do find yourself wondering whether Harry will be able to come back to your place at some point so you can, ahem, do it. You smile as you think that he’d surely be more than up for that.

 

True to his word, the second he sees you, he does run up to you like a character from an old black and white romance film, picking you up in a hug as he reaches you. You just laugh as he picks you up off the floor, throwing up your legs behind you and flinging your arms around his neck as he hugs you tightly.

 

“Missed you,” he greets you, nuzzling your neck.

 

“I’d never have guessed,” you tease before finding his mouth with yours and kissing him, not caring a bit this time that there are people around. They don’t have cameras, and if any of them _do_ recognise Harry, they’re too polite to interrupt him on a date. He puts you back down on your feet, his mouth still locked on yours and you’re both grinning when you break for air. You’re feeling all warm inside again, but you’ve just stopped questioning it by now, accepting that it’s just what Harry does to you.

 

Grabbing his hand, you pull him inside the cafe’ and you place orders for two Detoxers and two Portuguese Tarts each before finding a table upstairs, far away from the main action where you can have a bit of peace from commuters and businessmen. You thank the heavens, silently, that not many people you know frequent the cafe’ that much.

 

Or so you think.

 

“So, when are you actually going to tell your friends that you’re dating a member of One Direction?” Harry asks.

 

You blush. “I’m still trying to find the right moment, Harry. Maybe I should just, I don’t know, slip it into conversation somehow. Say something like “What books have we got to read for next week again? By the way, I’m dating Harry Styles, even though I hate One Direction. Is it just me or does Geoff look like he’s lost weight?”

 

Harry chuckles. “Or you could just wait until One Direction come on the radio and then say “By the way, I’m dating one of them.”

 

You smile. “I think they’d figure something was going on when I didn’t walk out of the room the second it came on.”

 

Harry puts his cup back on the table, his expression serious, and slides his hand into your free one. His hand’s cold from holding the ice cold smoothie and you imagine yours must be too, but you don’t jump when he touches you. “You’re not ashamed of me, are you?” he asks.

 

You almost flinch in surprise as you meet his puppy eyes. “No,” you protest at once, squeezing his fingers. “Absolutely not. It’s just, well, it’s a bit embarrassing admitting to your friends that you’re wrong about something anyway and I guess...I guess I don’t want to come across as a hypocrite.” Then, seeing him watching you intently, you add, reassuringly “I swear it’s not because it’s you. Well, I mean it is, but not in the way you think. It’s me, really, I’m a fool for making such a big deal out of not liking you guys and I guess now I’m paying for-”

 

 _“[Y/N],_ it’s ok,” Harry interrupts, with a gentle smile. He leans closer to you, brushing a strand of hair out of your eyes. “I know what you mean.”

 

You feel your eyes flutter shut as he touches his lips to yours and then all of a sudden your heart lurches as you hear a familiar voice.

 

“No, I know, right? I got as far as about page six and I was nearly asleep!”

 

You freeze, your eyes opening as Libby, Clara and Fern round the corner and make the top step. _Don’t see me, don’t see me, don’t see me,_ you think, and you’re about to pull away and bury your head behind the nearest cushion when Libby spots you and says _“[Y/N]?”_ prompting Fern and Clara to notice you too.

 

_Hell!_

 

Harry pulls away from you and glances over at the girls.

 

_Shit!_

 

“Hey, guys,” you say, trying to sound casual even though your heart is stuttering like a rundown train. They, of course, just gawp at you and you close your eyes in shock, wishing the world would just swallow you up, well, either that or you’ll spontaneously combust to save yourself from all the explaining you’re going to have to do. Thankfully, though, Harry simply smiles at them and says “Hi,” which quickly pulls them all together and they relax.

 

“Hi,” Libby smiles back, shooting you a look with her eyes.

 

You take a deep breath. “Harry, these are my friends, Libby, Clara and Fern.” You indicate them each by name. Clara gives a tiny nervous wave.

 

“Nice to meet you,” Harry smiles, politely. _“[Y/N]’s_ told me a lot about you.”

 

Fern laughs. “Well, I wish we could say the same!”

 

You’re blushing the same colour of your dress by now. Harry decides that the best way to make this awkward moment less awkward is to perhaps disappear tactfully for a bit so you guys can talk. “I’ll be right back,” he says, kissing your forehead as he gets to his feet.

 

_Harry!_

 

“’Scuse me, ladies,” Harry grins, stepping past them and heading for the bathroom. The second he’s gone, Libby dives into the chair beside you and gives you a soft clip on the arm. “Oh, my God! You’re on a date with Harry Styles!”

 

“Not so loud,” you hiss.

 

“I thought you hated One Direction,” Fern says, sitting down opposite you.

 

“I do. I mean, I did.” You sigh, throwing your hands over your eyes. “It’s complicated.”

 

“Well, how long’s this been going on?” Libby demands, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and shock.

 

“Couple of weeks,” you admit.

 

Clara’s jaw drops. “And you...didn’t say anything?”

 

“Well, you try telling your best friends that you’re suddenly dating a bloke you used to hate,” you say.

 

“Oh, please, that’s how my parents got together in the first place!” Libby laughs.

 

“How did this happen?” Clara asks, taking a sip from her own smoothie.

 

“I sort of bumped into him and suddenly, next thing I know, it’s like I’m seeing him everywhere,” you admit. “And, much as I hate to admit it, he’s pretty cute.”

 

“Tell me about it,” Fern laughs. “Just a shame he’s in such a shitty band.”

 

You quickly check the bathroom door but it’s still shut and she spoke in a pretty low tone anyway, so there’s no way he could have heard that. “They’re not so bad when you get to know them,” you begin.

 

“Yeah, I know, I was on about their music – wait!” Fern stares at you. “You’ve met the rest of them?” Before you can say anything, she adds with a laugh “And you didn’t think to get an autograph for Megan; shame on you!”

 

You all burst out laughing.

 

“Ok, details,” Libby says, patting your knee. “First date; when, what, where and how did it end?”

 

You blush again. “Two weeks ago, dinner, Terra Nova down the Bay and we went back to the flat and, well, you know.”

 

Clara’s jaw drops, comically. “On a first date? You bad girl!”

 

You throw your stirrer at her. “I couldn’t help it. I mean, I didn’t really want to go out with him at first, but he was very persuasive and we ended up having a lot of fun, and, well...he’s a lot nicer than most of the guys I’ve dated, put it that way.”

 

“The fact that he’s an international superstar and makes millions doesn’t come into it, right?” Fern teases.

 

“No,” you protest.

 

She laughs. “I’m kidding.”

 

Harry comes back and slides down beside you. “So, Harry,” Libby grins. _“[Y/N]_ was just telling us about how you met.”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Harry smiles, slipping his fingers through yours again. “Well, I had to work pretty hard to convince her to go on a date with me, but it was worth it in the end.”

 

 _“Harry,”_ you smile, touched, giving him a small dig with your elbow.

 

“Well, to be honest, we did sort of suspect she had a boyfriend,” Clara says.

 

“You did?” you say in surprise. “How?”

 

“Oh, come on, all the texting you were doing yesterday. The only time you ever text that much is when you’re texting one of us and we were with you,” she replies.

 

“And you were grinning and blushing a lot,” Libby adds.

 

“Plus I heard your phone go off super early that morning after we went to Play and you never answer your phone unless it’s someone you know calling,” Fern ends.

 

You clap a hand to your forehead. “I’m mates with Sherlock Holmes’ three illegitimate daughters,” you mutter, causing everyone to laugh. “I would appreciate it if you guys didn’t go spreading this around, though,” you add, awkwardly, brushing your hair out of your eyes.

 

Harry nods, seriously. “If the press find out, they’ll never leave us alone.”

 

“Lips sealed,” Libby promises, miming doing so and Clara and Fern nod, before Clara starts asking Harry what it was like to play live on stage in New York and he answers willingly, explaining that it’s very exciting but also a bit scary to be playing live in a foreign country.

 

You breathe out. _This is actually going better than you anticipated, and hell, these are three girls who hate 1D’s music same as you, but Harry’s already won them over. Well, he does have a way of doing that to people. You should know, after all, you’re the one in-_

 

Clara laughs at something Harry’s said and as the girls smile, you listen, all the while very aware of, and trying to ignore, the fact that your heart is racing just being near him and that you very nearly thought something you never thought you’d think about Harry in a million years, even when you first started liking him.

 

_Oh, jeez, I’m in trouble!_

 

 


	11. "I Won't Say I'm In Love"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're falling and you know it...will you tell him?

_Blimey! I never saw that one coming!_

_Shut up! Don’t even think it!_

_But you very nearly admitted-!_

_Shut up!_

_Do you though?_

_I don’t know! I’ve never...you know!_

_But you’ve never felt like this with any of your other boyfriends before. Have you?_

_Oh, I’m so confused!_

“What are you thinking about?”

 

You blink and swoop back to reality. You and Harry are lying on your bed, side by side, cuddled up, his arms around you, your head pressed between his bare shoulder and chest and your arms loosely about his waist. You can’t remember the last time you felt so comfortable being snuggled up to someone like this, half-clothed and happy. As Harry says it, he presses a lingering kiss to your hairline and once again you feel warm and fuzzy inside. You smile but try to keep your voice casual as you answer.

 

“Nothing, really,” you say, and then before he can object that there’s no way you can think about _nothing_ because everyone always has _something_ on their mind unless they’re asleep, you press closer to him and add “This is nice.”

 

“Yeah, it is,” Harry agrees, casting his eyes around the room. _“[Y/N],_ I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this before, but you have a _lot_ of books.”

 

You laugh. It is true. “Well, most of them are Uni,” you smile, “and you wouldn’t believe how much some of them _weigh._ I’ve got a whole anthology for Poetry class and it’s like carrying a brick around all day.”

 

“Yeah, I don’t think anyone realises how heavy paper can be until they stuff a lot of it in a book,” Harry agrees, with a grin.

 

_How is this happening? How are you-?_

_Don’t think it!_

_Not thinking it won’t make it true!_

_Yes, it will! Now shut up!_

“Harry?” you say, presently.

 

“Mm?”

 

You hesitate, idly tracing circles on his side. “Did you mean it when you said you think I’m amazing at kissing?”

 

Harry frowns, thoughtfully. “I don’t know; let’s see.”

 

“Harry!” you yelp, giggling, as he flips you over so you’re underneath him and proceeds to attack your lips with his. In spite of your giggling, however, he does manage to kiss you and he pulls away with a satisfied smile curling on his face.

 

“Yep,” he grins, popping the “p” as usual. “Definitely amazing at that.”

 

“Harry,” you protest.

 

“I’m serious,” he insists, eyes wide.

 

“Well, that’s nice,” you gasp, “but can you please get your elbow out of my bread basket? Because this is really uncomfortable!”

 

Harry quickly moves off your stomach. “Shit! I’m so sorry! Are you alright?”

 

You laugh. “I’m fine, you fool! I know you didn’t mean it.” Harry gives you a relieved smile, brushing your hair out of your eyes, gently, like he’s afraid of hurting you by touching you too hard. “Puppy,” you add, fondly, reaching up to card your hands through his hair and he chuckles and begins kissing your neck.

 

_It’s no good._

_Stop it! Seriously! There’s no way you can lose your heart to him!_

_Why?_

_Why? Because....oh, jeez! What a time to run out of reasons!_

_You mean you can’t think of one!_

_Doesn’t mean there aren’t any!_

_Yes, it does!_

_Why the hell am I arguing with myself about this?_

You’re distracted from your thoughts by Harry gently nipping at the curve where your neck meets your shoulder. You giggle and pull away from him. “Down, boy,” you tease. “If you’re going to bite me, please don’t do it there. I don’t wear scarves that often.”

 

Harry looks slightly embarrassed. “Sorry, guess I was getting carried away.”

 

You think about it for a second. You’ve always drawn a line at love bites, mainly because you’ve never really taken to the idea of any boy suckling on your neck like a vampire. But then again, you’ve never had one before and for all you know, you might enjoy it. Something tells you that it might be more enjoyable with Harry, _because_ it would be with Harry.

 

“You could...you know,” you say, slowly, “I mean...if you wanted to.” Harry looks up, his expression interested. “Just not on my neck.”

 

“Where, then?” Harry asks.

 

“Um...” You think for a second and then stroke a particularly sweet spot just below your clavicle. “Here would be alright.”

 

Harry glances at you as if for permission. You nod and as he leans in, you tense, automatically. He seems to realise this, because suddenly his arms are around you, stroking your lower back and you relax. When the bite comes, it makes you start but it’s surprisingly arousing and you lose yourself for a second in ecstasy.

 

_Fuck, that’s amazing!_

 

Your knees start to tremble, if you were standing up you’d be on the floor by now, and you find your toes curling into the sheet beneath you as he continues to suck hard at that one spot, and your extremely aware that he’s breaking small blood vessels doing that but to be perfectly honest, you don’t care, because it feels so awesome. When he finally pulls away, there’s a red mark against you skin which will probably be purple by morning because that’s how bruises work, but somehow it looks good.

 

“Was that ok?” Harry checks, raising his eyes from the mark to meet yours.

 

You nod, slightly breathlessly. Him doing that to you has set your heart racing. “Yeah. That was wonderful.” Harry smiles and kisses the bruise he’s left. You arch into his touch, running your hands down his back. A shiver goes through him and he chuckles against your skin. “I like you doing that.”

 

You laugh. “You really are like a puppy, aren’t you? Next thing you’ll be saying you want to be tickled.”

 

“Ah, no,” Harry says, firmly, extracting himself from you. “Can’t stand being tickled.” Your eyes widen as a mischievous look comes across your face and Harry realises his mistake too late. _“[Y/N],_ don’t-!”

 

Too late. You’re digging your fingers into his ribs and Harry’s yelping, trying to get away from you as he doubles over in laughter.

 

 _“[Y/N]!_ Cut it out! Seriously!” he begs.

 

You don’t let up, however, at least not until he’s pinned underneath you and has just managed to grab your hands. You’re both laughing breathlessly by now as you collapse weakly against him, feeling the vibrations between the two of you.

 

_He’s got a very attractive laugh. How the hell did you miss that before?_

_Knock it off!_

“That isn’t fair,” Harry gasps, prodding your side. “You know my weaknesses. I don’t know any of yours.”

 

“Excuse me?” you laugh. “I know _one_ weakness, thank you, Harry.”

 

“No, you know _all_ of them now,” he insists. “Tickling, bananas-” yes, you had discovered that he had a penchant for those soft, yellow fruits and anything in that flavour a while back, “and _you.”_

 

You blink. “Me?”

 

“Yes, because I can never resist you,” Harry replies, cupping your cheek.

 

You blush and look down. _“Harry.”_

 

“I can’t,” he insists. “You’re just so...incredible.” Your blush deepens and he leans forwards, resting his forehead against yours. “You know, if this was a musical or a Disney film, I’d be singing to you right now.”

 

“Don’t you dare,” you warn him, jokingly. “I have a reputation to upkeep as a hater of your music, don’t forget.” Harry laughs and sits up so that you’re straddling his lap. “Anyway, you do know _one_ of my weaknesses,” you add as he kisses your neck. “Portuguese Tarts.”

 

“Ah, yes, I’d forgotten,” he smirks, kissing your shoulder.

 

 _Yes, and_ you’re _rapidly on the way to becoming my second weakness._

 

_Shut up!_

 

Harry sighs as he raises his head. “Really wish I didn’t have to go soon.”

 

“Me too,” you say, genuinely meaning it. Then, sounding slightly more positive, you add “Well, at least I’ve got this to remember you by,” and you tap the bruise he left on you.

 

Harry smiles. “Tell me how long it lasts for.”

 

“It’ll probably last until we see each other next.”

 

“Hope so.” Harry pulls you back down on top of him and you snuggle against him, burying your face in between his shoulder and neck, inhaling the tantalising allure of his skin.

 

“You smell nice, by the way,” you say. “What _is_ that?”

 

“Soap?” Harry jokes.

 

“Harry!” you laugh. “You’re impossible!”

 

“Alright, alright,” he laughs, turning over and pulling you up beside him. “It’s Lynx Apollo shower gel.”

 

“Yeah, thought it was Lynx,” you say into his shoulder, sniffing it in again. “It’s nice. Sort of...comforting.” You inhale again and then bury your face in his chest. “It suits you.”

 

“Meaning what exactly?” Harry asks with a smile.

 

“Well, you’re cuddly,” you explain, “and soft, and warm...you’re my Puppy.” Harry chuckles and you smile. “So it sort of suits your personality. Knowing my luck, the scent for me would be something highly poisonous, like weed killer.”

 

Harry burst out laughing. “Oh, come on! You’re not that bad!”

 

“Thanks for the compliment,” you say, drily.

 

“I’m serious,” Harry grins, hugging you close. “And if I’m perfectly honest, I found your fierceness quite attractive when I first met you. Still do,” he adds as you raise your head to check he’s not joking. Nope, he’s deadly serious. He offers you a shrug. “I like feisty girls.”

 

“Feisty’s putting it mildly, but thank you,” you smile.

 

Harry smiles back and kisses your forehead. “No, the perfect scent for you would be something sweet but bold, not like those delicate floral scents you get that make you smell like you’ve spent all day at the Chelsea Flower Show.”

 

You giggle. “I can’t stand those ones anyway. They always smell kind of...bitter.”

 

“Mm, you should maybe smell of one of those celebrity perfumes,” Harry agrees. “That one you had on the other day was nice.”

 

You shake your head. “Trust you to have an attraction to one your ex-girlfriend released.”

 

Harry’s eyes widen, slightly. “Seriously? Ok, retract that.”

 

“It’s alright,” you laugh, showing him you’re not serious. “She does make a nice one.”

 

Harry reaches out and strokes your cheek. “Do me a favour.”

 

“What?” you ask, meeting his eyes.

 

He smiles, a fond smile. “Don’t ever try and be more like her. Or think you have to change anything because you’re not good enough for me. You’re perfect the way you are.”

 

Your heart practically melts at that. “Harry...”

 

_Admit it! Admit it! Admit it!_

 

_No!_

You have to pull away from him to wipe your eyes. Harry sits up in alarm and pulls you into his arms. _“[Y/N]?_ Are you ok? Hey, what’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing’s wrong,” you say, thickly, leaning against him. You scrub your eyes and then look at him. “Just...that was such a sweet thing to say...and I’ve never had a boy say that to me before.”

 

Harry frowns. “Well, who the _hell_ have you been going out with?”

 

You choke out a laugh. “Not all boys are as sweet as you, Harry, put it that way.” Then, drying off your eyes, you add “Puppy,” and ruffle his hair.

 

Harry grins. “I should really come up with a nickname for _you,_ you know.”

 

“Fine, but if it’s any animal that’s vicious, I’m going to tickle you to death,” you tell him, rolling on top of him again.

 

Your phone beeps suddenly, and you both sigh. You set the timer to alert you to when it would be a good time for Harry to make his way to the station from yours.

 

“Already?” Harry sighs. “It’s just flown by.”

 

“I know,” you sigh and then shake your head. “You know, I should have been studying today, but I gave it up to be with you. I’d better not fail my exam because of you.”

 

Harry laughs. “You have my permission to kill me if that happens, _[Y/N]!”_

 

Reluctantly, you roll off him and pull on your clothes, Harry does the same. You walk to the station, hand in hand, just laughing and talking together, and it just feels so easy, like it always has done with him. But something’s changed, you can feel it, something in _you._

 

And you know what it is.

 

There’s a part of you that wants to tell him, but a part of you that doesn’t as well. After all, you remind yourself, he might not feel the same way. So, you fight against your conscience and just kiss him on the platform, with a promise to text him and he promises to call you when he gets home, before giving you one last heart-stopping kiss.

 

It’s only when you get in, slide down against the door like Elsa and Anna in Frozen, and let out a deep exhalation, that you admit it.

 

“Damn it,” you mutter, wiping tears of frustration from your eyes. “I’m in love with Harry fucking Styles!”

 

 


	12. "Bad Romance"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s like a slap in the face, or rather like a kick in the ribs.

 

Friday morning, Libby suggests that you all hang out after class at her flat, so once you’ve finally finished at about two in the afternoon, you all jump off the bus at her stop instead of your own and sink down on her squashy but comfortable beige sofa as Libby potters about getting you something to drink.

 

“So, Missy,” she says to you, grinning knowingly as she hands you a glass of juice. “How are things going with that popstar boyfriend you hate?”

 

Fern and Clara grin and turn expectantly to you.

 

“I’m in trouble,” you confess.

 

They look startled. “What, why?” Clara asks.

 

“Because I’m in love with that popstar boyfriend I hate!” you exclaim, burying your face in your hands.

 

Libby’s jaw drops and then she laughs in delight. “Seriously?”

 

You nod and then run a hand through your hair. “What am I going to do?”

 

“Well, _tell him,”_ Fern says, as though it’s the obvious thing.

 

“No way,” you protest. “I was annoyed when I found out I _liked_ him, even more annoyed when _he_ found out I liked him.”

 

“I’m actually with _[Y/N]_ on this one,” Clara says, taking a swig of Pepsi. “I mean, she’s only been seeing him a couple of weeks. Telling him so early on might just scare him off.”

 

You laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “I doubt it. If anything it’d probably encourage him. I could end up with house, husband and kids before I could even blink.”

 

Fern laughs. “Ok, fair enough.”

 

“Do you think he loves you?” Libby asks.

 

To be perfectly honest, you hadn’t considered that. “I don’t know,” you say, slowly. Then, with a sigh, you shake your head. “Nah,” you say, not allowing yourself to get too hopeful that he could. “He probably just thinks we’re having fun.”

 

“No,” coos Clara, stretching out the word as she leans over to squeeze your hand. “He really likes you. I could see it in the caff. He was so sweet with you.”

 

You blush. “Yeah, well, he’s sweet to everyone.”

 

It’s true. You can’t even imagine him ever losing his temper with anyone, although being in a band can’t be without its arguments.

 

“Yeah, but that was like when me and Sam started going out,” Clara insists.

 

“What do you mean?” laughs Fern. “You and he are _still_ like that now; you just stopped noticing!”

 

You all laugh.

 

“Still,” you sigh, “he’s a celebrity and I’m just-”

 

“Oh, no, no, no,” Libby says, putting down her glass. “You are not doing this?”

 

“What?” you ask, baffled.

 

“You are not going to start putting yourself down like one of those OCs in those celebrity slash reader fanfics we keep reading,” Libby states, firmly.

 

You grin at her. “Sorry, Lib. Harry said I shouldn’t do that.”

 

“Listen to your boyfriend,” Libby agrees.

 

“She’s got a point,” Fern agrees. “Celebrities go out with ordinary people every day. Why shouldn’t he fall for you?”

 

You shrug. “Well, I was rather mean to him when we first met.”

 

“Which he’s forgiven you for,” Libby reminds you.

 

“And he must really, really like you to have kept texting you like that on the bus,” Clara adds.

 

You blush. “Can you guys keep a secret?”

 

“Sure,” Fern says.

 

You grin. “Well, we were actually sexting.”

 

“I knew it!” Libby exclaims, clapping her hands together. “I knew you were blushing!”

 

You giggle, shyly, brushing your hair out of your eyes.

 

“Oh, _[Y/N]!”_ Fern pretends to admonish. “In public? How could you?”

 

You laugh. “It’s surprisingly easy to when it’s Harry doing it!” Then, you glance around Fern to Clara and ask “Look, how long had you and Sam been going out when you first said it?”

 

“About two months,” she answers.

 

“Crikey,” Fern laughs. “Can you wait that long, _[Y/N]?”_

 

“Probably,” you say, “although we might not even be dating in two months for all I know.”

 

“Why; are you expecting to find someone better?” Libby half-jokes.

 

“No, but _he_ might,” you say. “I mean, you know, with all the celebrities he meets.”

 

Fern scoffs. “Right, all those girls with plastic surgery and personalities the size of peanuts? Sure, he’d rather have one of those!”

 

 _“[Y/N],_ not all popstars are like that,” Libby says, gently.

 

“Oh, yeah, and how many have _you_ dated?” Clara teases, raising one eyebrow.

 

Libby laughs. “I’m not about to kiss and tell!”

 

You all laugh and wind up talking about something else over a game of Cluedo, which is a pretty normal thing for you guys to do whenever you all hang out together. Halfway through detecting who the murderer might be, however, your phone beeps.

 

“Harry?” Fern asks, knowingly, as you smile. “You two aren’t at it again, are you?”

 

“No,” you smile, showing them the text from Harry.

 

_I miss you xxx_

“Aw!” you friends all coo at the same time.

 

“So, what are you thinking of; spring wedding?” Libby teases and laughs when you throw a pillow at her.

 

You can’t quite stop yourself from daydreaming, though. What would it be like to spend the rest of your life with Harry Styles? There’d probably be a lot of parties and PR stuff that he’d end up dragging you along to, but you could probably cope with that. You could find a little property somewhere out the midst of all the big cities, not in the country, that’s way too cliché, but maybe in a little village, like Hay on Wye or something, where you could write all day whilst Harry goes out with the others and makes thousands of 1D fans happy. It might be nice. Well, more than nice.

 

_Calm down, [Y/N]! You haven’t even introduced him to your parents yet and you’re already dreaming about marrying him? Damn you, Libby!_

 

You end up sending Harry the following text back:

 

_I miss you too. Can’t talk right now, though. I’ll text you later, ok?_

 

And found yourself rewarded with a:

 

_Can’t wait xxx :)_

 

When you finally walk with Clara and Fern to get the bus back home, however, you send him a quick text to let him know you can talk and soon you’re both conversing through your messages, Clara and fern exchanging smiles each time your phone beeps. All of Harry’s texts make you smile, even the ones that probably aren’t meant to, like:

 

_What are you planning for dinner?_

 

Or:

 

_Thinking about watching Night At The Museum later, you?_

 

Or even:

 

_Trying to figure out how to get half the songs Louis talked me into downloading off my IPod!_

Mind you, that makes you think of his embarrassment at having Let It Go on there, so that is actually quite funny.

 

 _It’s like that song,_ you note, _Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic. Only in this case, it’s Every Little Thing He Does Makes Me Happy._

When you get in, you phone him and spend so long talking and laughing with him that you almost forget to start cooking. It’s about eight in the evening when you eventually do start.

 

 _Going to murder you,_ you text.

 

_What did I do now? :o_

_You talk too much. :)_

Beep.

_I’m not the only one! ;)_

Beep.

 

_Cavegirl._

 

You blink at that.

 

_Cavegirl? Where the hell did that come from?_

 

Beep.

 

_Behind the time with your technology, love. Like not having a touchscreen._

_I thought you called that Living in the Dark Ages?_

 

Beep.

_Fine. Medieval Maiden, then_.

 

You laugh, think for a second and then send him another.

_Medieaval Beabe? Like the band, Medieaval Beabes?_

 

_Oh, I like the sound of that._

 

Beep.

 

_Never heard of them. Any good?_

_Brilliant. Look them up on YT. If you like that sort of thing, that is._

Beep.

 

_Will do. Now go eat. XD_

_Yes, Puppy._

Days pass like that, with you both texting and calling each other at every opportunity. Every free day you both have, you meet up together; sometimes Harry comes to you and you hang around Cardiff, other days you go to him and stay overnight at his place. It’s easier to do that because Harry doesn’t have flatmates who might overhear you two giggling together, besides other things, into the night.

 

 _“[Y/N],_ I’ve got something to tell you,” Harry says one evening as you’re lying cuddled up together after quite a bit of sex. You haven’t scared him by sort of passing out directly after orgasm since the first time, which is nice for both of you and you’re praying that nothing like that does ever happen ever again with you two.

 

Your head shoots up from his shoulder, wondering if this is it, the moment where he declares his love like in a Doris Day film or something. Though, you realise, he sounds kind of regretful as he says it, making you wonder what it could be.

 

_Oh, God, he’s not breaking up with me, is he?_

 

“What is it?” you ask, your heart sinking.

 

Harry links his fingers through yours as he speaks. “These last few weeks have been absolutely brilliant with you-”

 

“They’ve been great for me too,” you interrupt.

 

He smiles at you. “But...soon we’ll be back to work again, which means going back to London and God knows where else, working on demos and answering interviews and stuff, and I don’t know how often we’ll get to see each other then-”

 

You look away from him. “Harry, are you breaking up with me?”

 

“What? No!” Harry grabs your face, turning you gently to him. “No, I thought that you’d end up breaking up with me because I was leaving! I mean, I’ll still text and call you heaps-!”

 

You start to laugh. “Harry, I wouldn’t break up with you just for that! I know you have a busy schedule!” You rest your forehead on his shoulder, shaking with relief and then raise your head to meet his startled look. “You daft Pup!” you tease, ruffling his hair.

 

Harry grins at you. “So, you still want me then?”

 

“Yes,” you grin.

 

“Can I get that in writing?”

 

“Harry!”

 

You both start laughing as he hugs you closer to him. “Good,” he smiles once you’ve both sobered up. “Because I think we can make it work even when we’re not together all the time.”

 

You smile and reach up to kiss him. “I do too,” you admit.

 

The last day you spend together before Harry has to get going is magical; you go to see a film together, and you discover that Harry has a penchant for popcorn, not something you bon over since you can’t stand the stuff, so he teases you for it instead, prompting you to sneak in a few tickles during the film, so that he giggles in inappropriate places and gets some very funny looks on the way out.

 

“That _wasn’t_ fair,” he whispers in your ear, seductively, and sends shivers down your spine.

 

You giggle. “That’s what you get for teasing me, Harry Styles.”

 

You have dinner overlooking the river, and it does look beautiful in the daytime, the sun sparkling on the waves like glitter and the sky turning them a lovely blue. Then you walk to the station together, hand in hand, talking and laughing and feeling warm inside (well, that might just be you) and when you get to the station, you both feel a small pang as your train pulls in.

 

“I’ll text you heaps,” Harry promises, hugging you tightly. “I promise. And call. And maybe we can Skype?”

 

“That’s a good idea,” you agree. “I can actually see you then.”

 

Harry laughs and then kisses you. “We’re going to make this work, _[Y/N]._ Trust me.”

 

You nod. “I know,” you say and then you fling your arms around his neck and kiss him again. You sigh as you pull away, hearing the whistle. “Bye, Harry,” you say, sliding out of his arms and jumping onto the train.

 

“Bye, _[Y/N],”_ Harry replies, and then, in an attempt to be cheerful, “Miss you already.”

 

You smile and turn away, your heart racing in your chest.

 

_Tell him! Tell him! Tell him!_

 

“Harry,” you say, turning back as he turns you leave.

 

He spins back instantly to face you. “Yeah?”

 

“Call me when you get there,” you say instead of what you really want to.

 

Harry smiles. “I promise.”

 

You wave at him and then hurry to find a seat. As luck would have it you end up standing up for the first two stops because the train’s so packed, but eventually an old lady moves and you nab her seat. You spend the rest of the journey texting Harry and eventually when you’re getting ready for bed, he phones you to say goodnight and you go to bed, feeling that even if he doesn’t love you, he must care about you a lot and that’s something.

 

Or so you think.

 

Wednesday rolls around, during which you and the girls have a two hour break in between classes, so you’re sitting in the SU Bar – Libby checking Tumblr on her laptop, Fern making notes, Clara playing on her phone and you reading a book, a typical picture of the four of you in the SU Bar – when suddenly Megan shoots past you and dives towards the bar, exclaiming to the surprised bar boy “Oh, please, can you switch to Viva?”

 

He does so and the four of you glance at her. “What’s up, Megs?” Fern asks.

 

“One Direction are doing an interview, I read it in the TV Guide,” she gushes, looking up at the television mounted on the wall beside your seats. Within seconds all the others in your class who like One Direction are there too and an interviewer you’ve never heard of is introducing the famous five. Megan gives a little squeal of delight as they pop up on the screen. You smile to yourself, averting your eyes to your book, although you keep your ears open, listening to the interview, and when you shoot a look at the girls, they’re all watching Harry closely.

 

It gets to a point where they talk about what they’ve been doing during their month off, and Niall’s just made a joke about joining NASA – “or trying to, but they wouldn’t have me!” – which has made everyone laugh. The interviewer then turns to Harry and says “Well, a little bird told me that you’ve been spending a lot of time in Cardiff recently, Harry.” You shoot a look in the direction of the TV as your classmates gasp things like “What? No way!” Harry looks surprised but before he can answer, the man goes on “Apparently, you’ve been spotted out a few times with a young girl; new girlfriend, by any chance?”

 

“Jeez, talk about getting personal and nosy,” Ollie mutters, shaking his head.

 

“Shh!” Megan hisses.

 

Harry, however, leans forwards in his seat and says “No. Not a girlfriend.”

 

It’s like a slap in the face, or rather like a kick in the ribs. You can’t believe it as you stare at the TV screen and the interviewer interrupts Harry before he can say anything else, with an “Oh, well, my mistake then,” and goes on to ask Liam something. It’s like all the breath’s been sucked out of your lungs for a second, and then you quickly mark your book and stuff it into your bag with perhaps a little more vigour than necessary. You need to get out of here.

 

“Guys, I’m just going to the library,” you manage to say, and then you get to your feet and leave before anyone can say anything to you. You practically run to the library and are relieved to find it empty. You make for the study desk furthest away from the shelves and sink into the nearest seat.

 

You can’t believe it. After everything you’ve said, everything you’ve done, and now...it’s like you’ve fallen out of a plane and there’s no safety net. All this time he’s been playing you, stringing you along, probably thinking all along that you’re just some awful girl who hates his band and who for that needed to be taken down a peg or two.

 

_But how could he do that to you? Harry with his puppy eyes and cheeky smile and sweet personality? How could he have...well, he must be a pretty good actor. I mean, you never suspected a thing._

_Just shut up!_

Tears flood your vision as you pull out your phone and text Clara to tell her that you’re not going to Ruth’s lecture, so can she please tell her you’re not feeling very well, and then you hurry to catch the next bus before you can get caught by the girls and comforted. You don’t think you’re quite ready for that yet.

 

You lay off crying, however, until you get back home, feeling so stupid. Of course, he could never want you in that way, he could never _love you_ , you were just a joke to him and it looks like you were right about One Direction after all, right to hate them and especially right to be such a bitch to him when you first met.

 

Oddly enough, that doesn’t make you feel any better at all.

 


	13. "You Suck At Love"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're hurting. Harry isn't helping.

 

You don’t know how long you’ve been lying curled up in a ball for, and to be perfectly frank, you don’t care either. Your tears keep drying on your face and then restarting again. You never imagined that love could hurt this much. It literally feels like Harry ripped your heart right out of your chest and stamped on it whilst everyone else in One Direction just laughed. You notice that none of them looked surprised when he claimed you weren’t his girlfriend.

 

“It’s your own stupid fault,” you mutter, shakily. “Why did you have to let him suck you right in? Why didn’t you just push him in the Bay when you had the chance?”

 

You know why. Though you hated to admit it to yourself, there was something about Harry that you liked a teeny tiny bit right from the start but due to the fact that you hated One Direction you didn’t let yourself dwell on that too much. You just ignored it. Now you wish that you’d just let him walk away that day in Hereford.

 

How could anyone who seemed so cute be so cruel underneath?

 

The doorbell rings but you ignore it, figuring it’s probably someone for one of your other flatmates. You hear Aiden answer the door, invite someone in and then knock on your door, saying _“[Y/N]?_ It’s for you.”

 

Before you can answer, you hear Libby say to him “Thanks,” and you call out to her “It’s open,” sitting up on your bed to pull yourself together. The door opens and all three of them are suddenly around you, hugging you, murmuring comforts and you feel a great rush of love for all of them.

 

“That _bastard!”_ Libby says, with feeling. “If I ever get hold of him, I’ll stab him with one of your arrows for you.”

 

You sniffle, trying not to laugh and then feel Fern, ever the organised one, press a tissue into your hand. You nod gratefully at her and wipe your eyes. “I just don’t get how he could do that to me,” you manage to say.

 

“I know,” Clara agrees. “I mean, he seemed so...genuine. I could swear he really liked you.”

 

“But if he did, then why would he say that?” Fern counters.

 

“Because he’s a git who was just stringing our _[Y/N]_ along all this time,” Libby insists, shaking her head.

 

“I should have known it was too good to be true,” you sigh. “I should have just gone with my instincts instead of letting myself get sucked in.”

 

Fern rubs your shoulder, sympathetically. “You didn’t know.”

 

“Well I never want to hear another One Direction song ever again,” you say, firmly. “Or have anything else to do with any of them.”

 

Even as you say it, your phone starts to ring. Your heart jumps as you reach for it and sigh.

 

“Give it here,” Libby insists, holding out her hand for it. “I’ll tell him to bugger off for you.”

 

“No, it’s ok,” you sigh, taking a deep breath. “I’ll have to face him sooner or later; might as well get it over and done with.”

 

“Like ripping off a plaster,” Fern agrees. “You want us to go in the kitchen?”

 

“No, I will,” you reply, sliding off the bed as your phone persists. You answer it, or rather you press the answer button but wait for Harry to speak first.

 

“Hey, I’m not interrupting anything am I? You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve been wanting to talk to you all day.”

 

“Harry,” you try to interrupt, but he’s not finished.

 

“I mean, first there was writing and then interviews and we’ve got to do another one tonight, we’ve barely stopped.”

 

You step out of the room and head for the kitchen. “Harry, you can drop the act, I know you don’t mean it.”

 

“What?” He sounds confused. Oh, he’s good, you almost believe him. _“[Y/N],_ what’s wrong?”

 

“My so-called boyfriend is a lying bastard, that’s what!” you exclaim, pulling the biscuit tin off the shelf with more vigour than you planned. Still, thankfully it’s only tin, so it’s not likely to crack. Right now you actually feel like throwing it at him. “How could you do that to me?”

 

“What are you talking about?” Harry asks.

 

“I saw your interview!” you snap. “I heard what you said!”

 

There’s a pause and then a sound like Harry face-planting. “Shit! _[Y/N],_ that’s not what I meant-!”

 

“Yeah, right!” you choke out.

 

“No, _[Y/N],_ listen to me-”

 

“No, _you_ listen!” Your voice is thick because your tears are starting to fall again. “Maybe I did deserve that for being so mean to you before! Maybe I am just a bitchy anti-One Direction hater! But I can’t believe you would just string me along like that! I’m sorry I’m not just someone who fawned over you when we first met, and I’m sorry that every time I hear one of your songs I just want bash my head against a wall in the hope of drowning it out! But I never thought you’d be so spiteful as to just publicly dump me like that! You could have just done that while I was writhing underneath you whilst your tongue was inside me!”

 

 _“[Y/N],_ that’s not what that was-!”

 

But you’re too tired to listen anymore. “That’s what anyone who was halfway kind would have done!” you finish, and then you hang up. You’re not surprised when your phone goes off again almost instantly, but you let it ring as you wipe your eyes fiercely and then tip a generous amount of Oreos onto a plate before going back to your room. Libby takes in your red eyes and gives you a hug. “Boys, who needs them?” she says, and then as an afterthought “Apart from Clara, of course?”

 

You manage a giggle because truth be told Sam hangs out with you guys so much and gets involves in so many girly conversations that he’s practically an honorary girl himself.

 

Harry’s relentless, however. He keeps phoning you. Eventually you stop letting it go to Answerphone and hit the Cancel button in the hope that cutting him off early will ensure he gets the message.

 

It doesn’t work.

 

“Harry, bugger off,” you groan, as your phone shows you’ve had about twenty missed calls by now. You remember when you first met him, when he was going through his stalking phase when you first met him, when he told you “I can keep this going forever, you know.” You have a horrible feeling that he just might. Eventually you’re forced to set your actual alarm clock for the first time in months and switch your phone off completely, communicating with the girls for the rest of the night through private messages on Facebook. You don’t Tweet, because that way the whole world will know your business, but you check it automatically and a load of your friends have stuff up about the interview.

 

_#IzzyBee – OMFG! Cannot believe HS has been in Cardiff these last few days! How the hell did I miss that?!_

_#OllieOllieX – IKR? Wonder when press will release pics?_

_#MegIsAwesomeDotCom – I am keeping my eyes open from now on!_

Sleeping doesn’t help much. You keep dreaming about him. And each time he’s his perky, cheerful, bouncy, cheeky, puppy-like self, the self you eventually allowed yourself to fall in love with and you keep waking up in tears. When you eventually drag yourself out of bed, you’re so pale that halfway through your Children’s Fiction seminar, Jenna actually stops in mid-talk and asks if you’re alright because you look like you’re about to faint.

 

“I’m fine,” you insist.

 

_Even though I’m not because Harry fucking Styles is a lying, conniving, inconsiderate, scheming, twisted bastard and in spite of that I still love him!_

_Jeez, the only way this could get any worse is if it was Twilight!_

You swear no one’s convinced when you say you’re fine, even those who don’t know why you didn’t get any sleep last night, but luckily your classmates are nice enough not to press the issue and so is Jenna. She simply smiles and says “Well, if you feel sick or dizzy at all, do tell me,” and then goes back to discussing whether or not the novel Junk by Melvin Burgess should be made available on school reading lists or not. When no one’s looking, Clara reaches across the table and squeezes your hand.

 

The calls from Harry stop after that, only to be replaced with constant texts which you just delete without reading. Thankfully the two of you hadn’t exchanged Skype information yet, so he can’t get to you that way. You’ve no idea why he’s bothering to try and make you forgive him. He made it plain in that interview. You mean nothing to him. Unless he really likes the idea of you, the girl who used to hate him, suddenly falling for his charms.

 

_Sly bastard!_

 

Your Inbox keeps piling up, and then keeps emptying. You’ve no idea why you’ve kept his number, although to be perfectly honest you’ve kept a lot of numbers over the years that you just never deleted, old classmates and such that you’ve since fallen out of touch with but just haven’t bothered to delete their numbers. Anyway, you reason, having his number means there’s less chance of you answering when you read the caller ID.

 

When Saturday rolls around you have a wander about town just to get out of the house, though you stupidly make the mistake of going into HMV and when they start playing Best Song Ever, you have to make a run for it like your feet are on fire. Too many places have connections with him, you realise; your flat, the museum, the caff, the Bay. You’ve even lost your appetite for Portuguese Tarts, you realise.

 

“Damn you, Harry,” you sob that night. “Damn you to Hell and back!”

 

Archery on Sunday sort of helps to take your mind of it, and when it doesn’t, you simply imagine that Harry’s tied to the target with an apple on his head and it’s him you’re aiming for. It sort of helps. Clara texts you when you’re done and you decide to meet her and the girls for lunch in Ed’s Easy Diner. You’re grateful for that, because right now you really need a milkshake, and thankfully not that many people give you funny looks when you walk in wearing wellingtons and what looks like a large camping rucksack on your back.

 

“Feeling any better?” Libby asks, sympathetically as you sit down.

 

“A little bit,” you confess. “Archery helped.”

 

Luckily Ed’s is a fifties style diner, so that means that all the music they play there is from a time long before the boys of One Direction were even eggs in their mothers’ wombs, and when you and the girls start jokingly singing along to Elvis’s A Little Less Conversation and having a laugh together you begin to forget why you’ve been so upset lately. It helps.

 

That night, however, Harry texts you several times, and you feel like you’ve got no choice but to send a reply in the hope he’ll finally get the message. You read his latest text.

 

_[Y/N], please talk to me._

 

You take a deep breath, tap out your message and hit send.

 

_Harry, please stop texting and calling me, otherwise I will have you done for harassment and I mean it this time._

 

You wait. Your phone doesn’t beep again. Somehow that stings even though you’ve won the battle here. You wait a little longer. Still nothing.

 

Quickly, you plug your headphones into your laptop and switch to Simple Plan, singing quietly along to the lyrics of one of your favourite songs. This is it now. You’ve broken up for good. Harry Styles will be out of your life forever.

 

“Guess what, another game over.

I got burned, but _you’re_ the real loser.

I don’t know why I wasted my time with you.

You’re bad news, a history repeater.

I can’t trust a serial cheater.

You’re good at hooking up,

But you messed this whole thing up.

You were such an awesome fuck,

But you suck at love.

You suck at love!”

 

Right?

 

_Right?_

 


	14. "One Thing"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry does what he does best; will it get your attention?

You wake up the next morning, feeling both like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders and yet at the same time like you’ve lost something. Still, you’ve finally stopped crying, and though what Harry’s done to you hasn’t stopped hurting just yet, you feel like you can at least go to Uni today with a brave face on things. And you got a good night’s sleep, so that’s something as well.

 

Automatically you check your phone. No new texts. You wonder idly as you slide out of bed whether Harry’s deleted your number. You should probably do the same. Resolving to tidy up your Phonebook altogether at some point in the next week, delete a lot of those old numbers you don’t really need anymore, you have a shower and get dressed, though you spend ages deciding what to wear because you _don’t_ want to wear anything you ever wore with Harry. In the end you opt for your red dress you got from the Doctor Who Experience down the Bay – alright, so it has a Dalek on it, you’ve seen people turn up to Uni in worse – over leggings and a cardigan. It feels like battle armour somehow, you note as you pull your boots on.

 

You avoid the cafe’ – it’s still too early to face going in there again – and get to the bus stop early. When you get on the bus, you quickly nab a Metro that was left on your seat by the last person who was in it and scour the celebrity pages. There’s nothing about One Direction in there whatsoever and you breathe out. Whoever found out about you and Harry clearly didn’t want to go public with it until they heard it from Harry that you were dating. Well, that was something, you supposed; your love life should be private, even if it was with a celebrity.

 

Your heart didn’t feel ripped anymore, just bruised and numb, like it could only beat to keep you alive, it couldn’t beat from _him_ anymore. Still, you reflected, in time it would probably heal and you could move on, meet someone who was genuinely nice, who loved you, and then get back to being properly happy again.

 

“Keep it positive,” you mutter with a nod as you finally hop off the bus outside Uni. “Like that song in Legally Blonde.”

 

You hurry to get to your classroom, where Megan and Izzy are already waiting, and you tense, wondering if they’re talking about One Direction again. You’re not sure you’re ready for that yet either. But then Izzy says “It’s like Joey said in Friends; “Those two had only each other!” and Megan laughs, and you relax, realising they’re talking about something else altogether.

 

“Hey,” Izzy adds to you. “Talking about Titanic; feel free to jump in at any time.”

 

“Did it make you cry when you first watched it?” Megan asks.

 

You smile. “Surprisingly, it didn’t. I guess it just wasn’t dramatic enough to make me cry. I get sadder remembering that it was based on something that actually happened.”

 

“Oh, I know,” Izzy adds. “The bit that upsets me is when Jack gets all excited about going home and you just know he’s not going to make it.”

 

You nod. “Yeah, like that bit in Jekyll and Hyde when Jekyll sings “This is the Moment” but you know he’s going to die at the end.”

 

“Or like in the Other Boleyn Girl when you know it’s pointless Mary trying to make Henry spare her sister because Anne’s going to get her head chopped off anyway,” Megan adds.

 

“Or like that bit in War Horse where Captain Nichols says to Albert “The war should be over by about Christmas,” and you feel like shouting “No, it’s not mate!” Izzy agrees.

 

You and Megan both laugh. “Trust you to slip a Hiddleston reference in!” you tell her and Izzy grins, sheepishly.

 

By the time all the others have joined you, you’re all giggling like anything and no one could have ever guessed that just yesterday you were feeling depressed and heartbroken because of Harry fucking Styles. Cosma, your lecturer in Shakespeare, comes along – yes, that is her real name, she happens to be Italian – and soon you’re all inside your lecture room, you on the end of a table with Ollie next to you, Megan next to Ollie and Izzy in front of you as usual, pulling out your books, ready to talk about The Tempest.

 

You love The Tempest so much. It’s one of your favourite plays, although you watched a pretty dark version of it recently on DVD whilst preparing for the coming exam. But you’ve always loved Ariel flitting around doing her master’s bidding and Caliban grumbling and grousing about how the island belongs to him and Trinculo and Stephano getting the mad idea about ruling the island themselves into their heads. And thankfully it’s characters like that that Cosma wants to talk about today, not Miranda and Ferdinand, so you feel you’re able to push all thoughts of Harry fucking Styles out of your head and concentrate on storms and spells and slaves as Cosma begins with a discussion about the differences in Ariel and Caliban’s statuses considering that they are both in Prospero’s employ. You nod, diligently, as you take notes, thinking that it’s fitting because Ariel is the obedient servant who loves her Master and is devoted to doing his work in the hope of earning her freedom whereas Caliban deserves to be treated with less respect because he once tried to take advantage of Miranda.

 

Olli raises his hand, pen in it to answer a question about whether or not this reflects Shakespeare’s views on slavery and servants at the time in which the play was written, and just then your sharp ears hear what sounds like about five people skidding to a halt outside the door. You just shrug it off and carry on making notes.

 

_Probably sports students late for class and not as fit as they make out._

_Or not!_

 

Your eyes practically pop out of your head as there’s a knock at the door and before Cosma can even call “Come in,” the thing burst open and Harry tumbles into the room. Abruptly everyone falls silent and you’re aware of Megan gawping with her eyes lit up as the rest of the band quietly peer in and then practically tiptoe tentatively towards Harry. Catching his breath, Harry raises his eyes to Cosma.

 

“I’m really sorry about this,” he says, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear as he straightens up, “but I really need to talk to _[Y/N]._ It’s an emergency.”

 

Cosma looks dumbstruck and then she nods, too startled to speak.

 

“Harry, what the _fuck-?”_ you mouth at him as his eyes find you. Before you can go on, however, he’s actually started singing, to you.

 

“I’ve tried playing it cool

But when I’m looking at you

I can’t ever be brave

‘Cause you make my heart race

 

“Shot me out of the sky

You’re my kryptonite

You keep making me weak

Yeah, frozen and can’t breathe

 

“Something’s got to give now

‘Cause I’m dying just to make you see

That I need you here with me now

‘Cause you’ve got that one thing...”

 

As the others join in on the chorus, you realise that Izzy’s trying to get your attention. You glance at her and see she’s written you a note.

 

“So, get out, get out, get out of my head

And fall into my arms instead

I don’t, I don’t, don’t know what it is

But I need that one thing

And you’ve got that one thing!”

_Oh my God; say yes!_

You stare at her and then glance around at your classmates who are all staring at you.

 

“Now I’m climbing the walls

But you don’t notice at all

That I’m going out of my mind

All day and all night

 

“Something’s got to give now

‘Cause I’m dying just to make you see

That I need you here with me now

‘Cause you’ve got that one thing...”

 

Megan mouths at you “You? You and Harry Styles?”

 

You nod, slowly, before glancing back at Harry.

 

“So, get out, get out, get out of my head

And fall into my arms instead

I don’t, I don’t, don’t know what it is

But I need that one thing

 

“So get out, get out, get out of my mind

And come on, come into my life

I don’t, I don’t, don’t know what it is

But I need that one thing

And you’ve got that one thing!”

 

Even Cosma’s looking at you, expectantly. All you can think is _Harry must care if he’s prepared to do this just to get to talk to me._

 

_So, then, why say what he did?_

_Maybe you should hear him out._

You can’t help smiling as you realise that he’s singing to you, you alone, addressing you in the song, using it to express what he feels towards you, and after all the times you threatened to thump him if he ever started singing to you. Out of the corner of your eye as you start stuffing everything into your bag and sling it onto your shoulder, you see Cosma leaning against her desk and nodding in time to the music. More than a couple of your classmates are doing that too.

 

“You’ve got that one thing!

 

“Get out, get out, get out of my head

And fall into my arms instead

 

“So, get out, get out, get out of my head

And fall into my arms instead

I don’t, I don’t, don’t know what it is

But I need that one thing...”

 

Harry suddenly hurries up the steps to where you’re sat and you stare up at him, eyes wide, more than surprised by this gesture as he finishes the song off, looking straight into your eyes and offering you his hand.

 

“So get out, get out, get out of my mind

And come on, come into my life

I don’t, I don’t, don’t know what it is

But I need that one thing

And you’ve got that one thing!”

 

You know that everyone’s waiting for you to take his hand. So that’s what you do, emitting a collected gasp and whispered murmurs from everyone in the room and a smile, not of relief, a genuinely happy smile, from Harry, even as you let him pull you to your feet and then drop his hand as you turn to address Cosma.

 

“Can I be excused a sec?” you ask, feeling guilty that her class was interrupted. Thankfully, being Italian means that Cosma is a sucker for romance, so she nods with a smile. You ignore the looks and mutterings of awe from everyone else as you tug Harry’s sleeve to get him to follow you and make your way down the steps, nodding to Liam, Louis, Niall and Zayn as you pass, then stepping through the doors and out into the corridor. Once there, you spin to face Harry.

 

“Ok, Harry,” you sigh. “I’m listening.”

 

Harry takes a deep breath. _“[Y/N],_ please don’t for a second go thinking that I don’t care about you when you’re everything in this whole world and more to me.”

 

“Then why did you-?” you begin.

 

“Because I didn’t want you to get bombarded by the paparazzi when you’ve got enough on your plate to deal with,” he interrupts. “I guess I panicked. I mean, I didn’t want you to have your life ruined by them not leaving you alone, knocking on your door at four o’clock in the morning or catching you in some odd situation and making a joke about it, making your personal life public.” He sighs and runs a hand through his unruly curls. Against your better judgement you’re very tempted to do the same but you restrain yourself. “You don’t deserve that.”

 

You look straight into his eyes as he speaks and you’re pretty sure that he’s telling the truth. You sigh and then throw a soft punch at his arm. “Then why the hell didn’t you tell me you were going to do that? A warning would have been nice!”

 

“Hey, I didn’t know what questions would come up in that interview,” Harry protests, rubbing his arm on principle. “And I didn’t even know the press knew about us. I mean, when you applied to come here, did you know what questions you were going to get asked in your interview?”

 

You deflate. “No,” you admit, leaning against the wall. “Fair point.”

 

Harry does the same as you, his eyes on your face. _“[Y/N],_ I swear I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’d rather throw myself off a cliff than do that.”

 

You glance sideways at him. “I cried for a whole night because of you. People here thought I was ill because I wasn’t getting any sleep.” You sigh and close your eyes. “I must have looked like a vampire.”

 

Harry smiles. “A very cute vampire.”

 

“Harry,” you groan, warningly.

 

“Sorry.”

 

“It’s ok. I know you can’t help it.”

 

“No, I mean I’m sorry I put you through all that,” Harry replies and you open your eyes to look at him. He slips his hand into yours and automatically you lock your fingers through his. “That was the last thing on my mind.”

 

You fix your expression into a softer one, less fierce. “Well, it did take a lot of courage to come up here and sing a cappella to me just to get my attention.”

 

“That _was_ pretty terrifying,” Harry agrees, grinning, and you can’t help yourself. You laugh. You just laugh. Harry makes you laugh. That’s one of the reasons you love him so much.

 

_But does he feel the same way?_

 

You take a deep breath. “Harry, I accept your apology.” And when he gives you the hopeful puppy-dog eyes, you sigh. “And, even though I’m still a bit cross with you for putting me through all that, I don’t like seeing you with that wounded puppy look on your face, so you’re forgiven.”

 

Harry beams at you. “Good, because I love you and I’m never going to do anything to-”

 

“Sorry?” you interrupt, straightening up off the wall. “What did you just say?”

 

Harry straightens up and smiles, taking your other hand. “I love you, _[Y/N]._ I love your temper. I love your attitude. I love your terrible taste in cinema snacks.” You let out an indignant laugh and he chuckles. “I love everything about you, and I always have done.”

 

 _“Harry,”_ you moan, shaking your head. “I’m supposed to be cross with you. How can I do that when you’re talking like this?”

 

He grins at you. “Are you seriously going to look me in the eyes and tell me that you don’t feel the same way?”

 

You let out another gasp of indignation and seize the front of his hoodie. “I am looking you in the eyes and telling you that there is still so much about you that I hate. I hate the way that each time I yell at you, you just laugh. I hate the way you never let me win an argument. I hate the way you can just make an adorable face and I can never put my foot down again with you for the rest of the day. And I really, really, really, really hate the fact that right now I’m so deeply in love with you that it must make me the world’s biggest hypocrite!”

 

You have to take a very deep breath after that rant, but Harry simply smiles at you. “See? That wasn’t too hard, was it?”

 

“Shut up,” you say, automatically.

 

He laughs. “You’re always telling me to shut up.”

 

“You always _need_ to shut up,” you retort, releasing his hoodie but leaving your hands where they are, catching your breath.

 

Harry leans forwards, pressing his forehead to yours and you both close your eyes for a minute, the warm, fuzzy feeling returning to you slowly at being so close to him again, knowing now that he does love you, he just said it, he loves you. Then, Harry begins to sing softly to you.

 

“Baby, you light up my world like nobody else

The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed

But when you smile at the ground it ain’t hard to tell

You don’t know

You don’t know you’re beautiful...”

 

You smile as Harry moved his head, kissing your forehead, murmuring softly.

 

“If only you saw what I can see

You’d understand why I want you so desperately

Right now I’m looking at you and I can’t believe

You don’t know

You don’t know you’re beautiful

That’s what makes you beautiful...”

 

You open your eyes and raise your head. “Couldn’t resist, could you?”

 

“Nope,” Harry smiles and he finally wraps his arms around you and kisses you. You fling your arms around his neck and cling to him and as you do so, you’re very aware of the rest of One Direction and Cosma and your classmates cheering in delight. Tempting as it is to flip them the finger or else tell them to bugger off and mind their own business, you just stay wrapped in Harry’s arms, kissing him back. God, you’d almost forgotten what it was like _to_ kiss him, or be so close to him. All the wonderful feelings come rushing right back to you.

 

“I still hate your music,” you tell him, briefly pulling away from him.

 

Harry shrugs with a grin. “And I’m still ok with that.”

 

With a smile, you kiss him again, clinging to him tightly as the door opens and you’re both met with cheers and applause from everyone as they spill from the room to congratulate you both. Harry and you both find yourselves giggling as you part for air but you don’t let go of each other, nor do you face the others. Why would you, when you’re looking deep into Harry’s puppy eyes and knowing that he loves you?

 

That doesn’t stop you from overhearing Megan whisper to Louis “So...are _you_ single?” as she sidles closer to him.

 

 


	15. "What Makes You Beautiful"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happily Ever After...'cause I'm a sucker for romance!

Two Weeks Later...

 

“Oh, boy,” you mutter, your hands shaking as Cosma says it’s almost time for you all to go into the exam. The four of you have had your fingers and toes crossed for luck this entire time you’ve been here, all reciting everything you’ve memorized to write down on paper inside your heads. You can’t remember the last time you were this nervous about anything.

 

_What if you never calm down?_

 

Even as you think this, your phone buzzes in your pocket. You check it.

 

_Good luck today. ;D_

 

You smile and type back before pressing Send.

 

_Thanks, Puppy. Have to go in now. See you later xxx_

 

Buzz.

 

_Can’t wait xxx_

 

“Alright, _[Y/N],_ phone away,” Cosma reprimands but she’s smiling as she says it.

 

“Sorry,” you say, pushing it back into your bag. You catch your friends’ eyes and exchange smiles.

 

“You are so lucky,” Megan mouths at you and you stifle a laugh as you finally all shuffle into the sports hall like sheep. Your bags are left at the front of the room and you take your seats. You’re feeling a little less nervous about this whole ordeal already, just from remembering that whatever happens, you’ll be seeing Harry tonight. They have a gig in Birmingham and you’ve been invited to the after party, which you’re a little scared about, but the thought of being with Harry again makes you relax more, as it does about the exam.

 

“I can do this,” you mutter to yourself as you’re handed a paper. “Of course I can do this. I’m Harry Style’s girlfriend. I can do anything. Legal, that is.”

 

_Ok, now you’re talking to yourself, [Y/N]. Shut up._

You pull yourself together and get on with the exam. Thankfully you’ve all been preparing for these questions in your spare time, writing essays and that – yes, even _you,_ when you’ve not been with Harry – and so you just do what you’ve been doing all weak, panicking momentarily when you forget what act Romeo said what in and then giggling silently when you realise it’s a quote taken the same act as one you previously used from him, so that’s alright, and all too soon the ninety minutes slot is up and you’re all escaping the stuffy confines of that room like battery chickens finally set free.

 

“It’s over!” Libby exclaims, throwing up her arms. “I could cry!”

 

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” Fern says.

 

“You wouldn’t!” Clara laughs. After all, Fern’s always been the one to put in that extra ten percent with her work.

 

Ollie throws his arms around yours and Fern’s shoulders. “I never want to do another exam for as long as I live!” he exclaims. “Who’s for a drink?”

 

“Not me,” you say. “I’ve got to get home, grab my stuff and get the next train to Birmingham.”

 

“I can’t believe you’re going to celebrate finishing the exam by partying it up with One Direction,” Megan grins, shaking her head.

 

“Yeah, you lucky cow,” Izzy laughs. “Couldn’t have wangled us an invite too?”

 

You smile. “Well, maybe Harry can pull a few strings when they next come here...”

 

“You’re a babe!” Megan laughs, hugging you.

 

“You know, you and Harry are such an adorable couple,” Ollie grins and then, putting his hand on your arm, adds with a mock serious expression “But you tell him from me that if he ever upsets you like that ever again, he’s dead.”

 

Libby laughs. “You couldn’t beat an egg, Ollie, we all know that!”

 

Everyone giggles as Ollie pretends to take offence. “I’d better go,” you say, “otherwise I’ll miss the bus.”

 

“Text me when you get there,” Clara says, hugging you. Fern and Libby hug you too and then you quickly hurry off towards the bus stop, hearing Ollie call dramatically after you “Run, _[Y/N],_ and be with your True Love!”

 

You laugh as you leap aboard the bus before it can cruise away and pull out your phone to send Harry a quick text.

 

_I’m done now. Think it went ok._

 

Beep.

 

_If it didn’t, the offer to kill me is still on the table!_

 

You actually laugh out loud. And for once you don’t care when people stare.

 

_You need to stop making me LOL in public, Harry. Bad puppy. >:(_

 

Beep.

 

_:( Can’t wait to hear your laugh again._

_You’re sweet x_

 

Beep.

_So are you :D_

 

Beep.

 

_I love you, [Y/N]_

You draw in a small gasp at that and then, with a smile, you breathe out and text back.

 

_I love you too, Harry._

 

Beep.

 

_XD_

 

Your hop off the bus and practically run all the way up the steps to your flat. After a quick shower, you pull your leggings back on and don your best _[y/f/c]_ evening dress before grabbing your jacket, your handbag and your suitcase and hurrying all the way to the station. However, that doesn’t stop you from pausing in front of the Metro clipping you’ve pinned to your notice board and smiling at it on the way out.

 

**“Harry Styles is “Taken”**

 

**“After previously stating otherwise in a televised interview, the One Direction singer has now confirmed rumours that he has been dating a Cardiff girl for almost a month.**

**“Her name’s [Y/N], and that’s all you need to know,” he grins before going on to very firmly but politely request that she not have her private life disturbed by the press. So far we have been unable to release any further information, however a word with the other members of 1D reveals a hint or two about their relationship.**

**“We’re pretty sure Harry’s found the _one_ this time,” states Niall.**

**“We just hope that no one tries to “Steal His Girl.”**

You’ve read the thing so many times now that you know it backwards and you find yourself playing out in your head again as you board your train. It was very decent of Harry to request the paparazzi not to bother you and even more decent of them to obey. So far you haven’t even been so much as snapped out in public let alone woken at three in the morning by nosy journalists.

 

“I haven’t even seen a tourist out with a camera lately,” you said to Libby when she asked you about it.

 

“Well, they all buy postcards these days,” she had pointed out and you had to agree with her there.

 

Now, though, you just sit back on the train, relax and eat your Oreos. There’s still a small part of you that still can’t quite believe that this has happened. Just a few months ago, you were One Direction’s biggest anti-fan, and now, well, you still don’t like their music, but the thought of ever hating Harry like you used to seems to have just blown away in the wind.

 

So, you sit back and relax, contented, until you hit your stop and when you get out of the station, you’re surprised to see the white Jag waiting for you, along with Harry’s driver.

 

He grins and walks up to you. “Evening, Miss. I’m to take your stuff to the hotel room and drive you to the party. Harry’s going to meet you there, oh, and you’ll need this,” he adds, holding out a pass on a lanyard. It reads VIP. “Otherwise you’ll never get past security.”

 

You smile and slip it around your neck as he takes your bags. Stepping into the car, hugging your bag on your lap, you suddenly _feel_ like a VIP, being driven to a party in a white Jag. You’re tingling with excitement so much that you barely notice where you’re being driven to and it’s only when the car finally slows that you remember to text Clara and let her know you’re there safe. Then you quickly send Harry a text.

 

_We just got here. See you in a sec._

 

Beep.

 

_I’m the one with the puppy-like energy in case you don’t recognise me._

 

You giggle, thank the driver and then climb out. The security men do look tough but one look at your pass and you’re being ushered into the building. Immediately you feel like a little fish in the vast ocean. The room is spotted in disco colours from the lights and everyone around you is dancing, not noticing you’re there, but you’re not entirely sure whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

 

Before you can even move, however, there’s a delighted yelp of _“[Y/N]!”_ and you squeal as Harry cannons into you, picking you up off your feet and hugging you tightly.

 

“Hey!” you manage to laugh, clinging to him.

 

“Missed you,” Harry grins, setting you back on your feet and then taking in what you’re wearing. “You look amazing.”

 

You blush. “Thank you.”

 

“Hey, _[Y/N]!”_ Niall’s sitting over in a corner with Liam and a couple of girls. They both raise their drinks in greeting and you wave back to them.

“This is so weird,” you say, looking around the room. “I mean...I never thought in a million years someone would invite me to a celebrity party.”

 

Harry grins at you. “Several weeks ago, you never thought in a million years that you’d be dating _me.”_

“True,” you agree, “and, um, for the record, I missed you too. Puppy.”

 

Harry beams and kisses you, then pulls you in among the dancers. “Dance with me.”

 

You do. You’re surprised. You thought that when you’d see One Direction dancing in videos that it was all just carefully choreographed moves, but Harry’s actually an amazing dancer anyway, and even though you’re not really good at it, he doesn’t make you feel like an idiot and you quickly forget your inhibitions. But then, Harry’s good at doing that anyway with you.

 

“Oh, no,” you groan , clapping a hand to your forehead as the music suddenly switches and you hear cheers from the rest of One Direction as a very familiar song comes on. Truth be told, though, even though you don’t like their music, you’ve decided that you can put up with it, so you’ve stopped walking out of the room any time you hear one of their songs, especially when you remember that your boyfriend is one of the ones singing it. You start to laugh.

 

Harry throws up his hands. “Don’t look at me; I didn’t get a say in the playlist! But it is _our_ song, so...”

 

You quickly throw your arms around his neck and kiss him. “I would have thought that One Thing was our song?” you say.

 

“Nah,” Harry laughs. “This one was for us long before I started singing that one to you. Don’t you remember me telling you that you were just like the girl in this song the first time I phoned you?”

 

“Ah, yes, the morning after you first kissed me.” You both giggle and then you step closer to him. “So, do I get the live version tonight?” you tease.

 

Harry grins, kisses you one last time and then wraps his arms around your waist to pull you close, resting his forehead against yours as he starts to sing softly to you.

 

“Everyone else in the room can see it.

Everyone else but you...”

 

And even when the rest of One Direction start singing along too, at the tops of their voices, the only voice you can concentrate on is Harry’s. Because you’ve also given up protesting when he says things like this to you, because you know that it’s how he truly feels about you and whenever you’re with him, you feel exactly the way he sees you.

 

“Baby, you light up my world like nobody else

The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed

But when you smile at the ground it ain’t hard to tell

You don’t know

You don’t know you’re beautiful

If only you say what I can see

You’d understand why I want you so desperately

Right now I’m looking at you and I can’t believe

You don’t know

You don’t know you’re beautiful

That’s what makes you beautiful...”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you guys reckon? Sequel? Possibly called Steal My Girl? Possibly featuring an evil Mr Cowell and more problems for you and Harry to get over? Let me know!


End file.
